


Silver, Ash, and Bone

by CleverMird



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Aeldari | Eldar (Warhammer 40.000), Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Developing Relationship, Drukhari | Dark Eldar (Warhammer 40.000), Duelling, Elven Parties, F/M, Howling Banshees, Hurt/Comfort, Master/Slave, Original Character(s), Public Humiliation, Self-Destruction, Sexual Assault, Slave Trade, So much trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverMird/pseuds/CleverMird
Summary: When a young Howling Banshee is purchased by the Kabal of the Ashen Rose, she finds herself developing a relationship she never expected with its melancholy archon- and becoming drawn into the dangerous world of Commorragh politics.Will she be able to find happiness in her new life? Or will a millennia-old rivalry spell doom for both her and the kabal?
Relationships: Drukhari | Dark Eldar Character(s) (Warhammer 40.000)/Original Character(s), aeldari/drukhari
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. Masks

The great ship floats through the blackness of space on wraithbone wings, a serene testament to the nobility of the aeldari and the well-oiled machine of craftworld society. Every member of the crew walks their own path. Crew tends their stations, warriors train in the gyms, and the diplomatic envoy that forms the core of their mission sits in a conference room near the helm discussing the agenda at their next stop.

In one small cabin, however, the atmosphere is anything but peaceful. Jian paces nervously, eyes constantly drifting back to the clock on the wall. Only five more minutes…

For the third time that afternoon, she returns to the mirror on the wall, running her fingers through her long silver hair and touching up a stray spot of unblended eyeshadow. She hasn’t spoken to Reena in nearly three months, and it could be much longer before the opportunity arises again. Her time waiting in the que to access the thoughtportals when they were unneeded for more important things will mean nothing if she is unable to reach her. 

She’s late. Where is she? Has she forgotten? Had she- no, there it is.

Jian scrambles to the desk and presses a button on the small device that sits there, heart jumping into her throat. “Hello?”

“Jian!”

Her lover’s voice sends a surge of relief through her. She’s OK. A part of Jian has known this, but in the vastness of the galaxy, anything could happen and she would never find out until it was too late… “Reena! How are you?”

A blurry image flickers into the air before her, little more than a flesh-toned smudge that slowly resolves itself into the round face and upturned nose of a young aeldari girl with sparkling golden-brown eyes. Reena, her darling. She looks a bit tired- she’s probably just finished a shift in the infirmary. She wears a soft, flowing white dress and her the golden rings bound around her braid pick up the color of her eyes and the highlights in her red hair. “Nothing much to report, really. You know how it is. Nothing ever happens here. How about you? How’s the galactic traveler?”

“Gods, I’m bored. Since we stopped on Biel-tan three weeks ago, the most exciting thing has been changes in the canteen menu.” She pauses. “It’s been nice to spend time with Mother, though.”

Reena nods. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“It is.” She smiles wistfully. “It’s different, you know, spending time with her as a grown woman, than it was when I was younger.”

“Of course it is. Although,” Reena’s voice takes on an amused tone. “I’m not sure who the grown woman is supposed to be.”

“Hey! That’s not- “

Reena cuts her off laughing. “Seriously, though. I’m really happy you’re having a good time. Just… hurry back, OK? I worry.”

“Of course. I’m sure we'll be at the shrine for a while before they send us out again. I miss you too.” She falls silent for a moment, considering, before a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Would it help if I described all the things I’ll let you do to me when I get back?”

Reena matches the smile with one of her own. “Well… since you mention it… It’s been way too long since I’ve seen your tits.”

“Oh? Is that what you want? I could be persuaded…” Jian sneaks a glance around the cabin. Her bunkmate isn’t supposed to be back for nearly an hour, but it would be amazingly awkward if someone walked in right now.

“Come on. Your shirt, off with it.”

She takes hold of the edge of the fabric, rolling it slowly up her body, making sure Reena can catch every last detail of her body as it’s revealed. Her girlfriend sighs appreciatively as Jian reaches back to unhook her bra.

“Unggghhh, those look good. Give them a nice squeeze for me.” She hears Reena shifting position to get ready for what comes next.

“Hang on a second, let me lock the door before-“

A loud, shrieking, mechanical noise cuts her off. Jian’s heart jumps into her mouth. “Shit, that’s the alarm. I have to leave.”

“What’s wrong?” Reena asks quickly.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing, just a rough patch in one of the warp corridors coming up or something. I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

“Promise?” Jian can still hear the worry in her voice.

“I promise. I love you.” She blows a kiss to the screen and switches it off, already shifting mindsets. She has a duty now. 

Her armor is a work of art, nearly as easy to put on as normal clothing. Particularly when she’s only half-dressed already. Less than two minutes later, she’s jogging down the corridors of the ship in the fitted bodysuit and bone-white plates that already feel like a second skin. As she runs, she places her Banshee’s mask over her face, and with it, the last of her jovial mood from a few moments prior falls away.

Despite what she said to reassure Reena, she isn’t sure what kind of threat the alarm that still blares is warning of. It could be nothing- but it could be an attack by the orks or the mon’keigh or even-

She slows to a walk as she enters the bridge, keeping a watchful eye for any indications of what might be wrong. Her path quickly becomes clear as she spots her exarch, Verynia, standing next to her mother at the far end of the large room.

As she approaches, her heart sinks. Her mother stares at the bay of projected images that show every detail of the ship and the warp surrounding them, face white and eyes distant.

“What is it?”

Her mother starts and turns to look at her, straightening her grey and orange captain’s robes as she does so. Jian has always thought they make her look regal, and today is no exception, as she carries a presence even as she wipes the worry from her face. Her voice is perfectly calm despite the tightness in her posture. “The ship is under attack by drukhari raiders. Too many to fend off with the troops we have. We will have to evacuate.”

_No. How can she say that so calmly?_

“What are we going to do?” Her voice comes out squeaky, like a small child’s. The drukhari are nightmare creatures, the threat in the dark too frightening even for horror stories.

Verynia steps forward, tossing loose, thick red hair behind her shoulder. Unlike Jian’s mother, not a single sign of worry breaks through her air of command. “You are going to join your squad and escort our civilian officers to our escape ships, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jian runs towards her sisters, but can’t help looking back one more time. Her mother and Verynia, the two women who form the foundations of her life, stand next to each other, deep in conversation, paying her no more heed.

The quintet of her armor-clad Banshee sisters acknowledges her approach with a nod before Kayna, the eldest in both years and experience, gestures to a cluster of aeldari that stand nearby to follow them. Dehina and Elreth cover the sides and the twins, Aya and Lethe, bring up the rear.

Jian recognizes the civilians as part of the ship’s diplomatic envoy. They all look as terrified as she feels. A stab of pain shoots up her arm and she realizes she’s been gripping the hilt of her sword hard enough that it’s begun to cramp.

It seems as though the ship itself has changed as she makes her way towards the nearest escape ship. Hallways that seemed plain and boring only hours ago now have long shadows and too many corners. Yet even still, she finds herself growing less and less afraid as she herds the diplomats along, her own nerves nearly forgotten in the intensity of her focus. With her armor donned hastily and no time for ritual, her warmask evades her, but the mindset is not far. It seems almost like no time at all before the emergency hanger comes into sight. 

One of the diplomats breathes an audible sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. A half dozen kabalite warriors step into view, armored in crimson and white. They raise their splinter rifles towards the group.

The last of Jian’s fear evaporates as she launches forward, drawing a shuriken pistol from her waist and firing towards the enemy in rapid succession. Her first two shots go wild, but the last two connect, striking the nearest drukahri in the shoulder and the side. She doesn’t hesitate, drawing her power sword for a follow-up strike.

The warrior’s shot slices through the air where she was a second ago and she steps forward into a wide swing that cuts him in half. Blood spatters her, the same color as the armor that failed to protect him. A smile spreads across her face.

Spinning, she rounds on the next assailant, striking low at the legs to avoid his rifle shot. He, too, crumples to the ground, leg sliced cleanly off. More blood flows onto the deck plating and howls of pain join the shrieks from her sisters’ masks in a cacophony of sound that forms the music of her death-dance.

Before long, the remaining drukhari lay dead on the ground.

She tosses her hair behind her shoulders and picks her way through the body parts to return to the diplomats and the twins that remained behind to guard them. The former group looks a bit shell-shocked.

“Jian,” Kayna orders sharply, gesturing to a blond man who stares blankly at the carnage.

Picking up on her meaning, Jian extends her hand towards him and he takes it without protest. Half-leading, half dragging, she escorts him through the gory hallway and to the hanger, where he seems to regain his wits and hurries onto the escape ship under his own power.

Her relief is short-lived, though. They still have two more groups to escort before the ship can be considered evacuated.

The six Howling Banshees take an instant to regroup before they begin their trip back to the bridge. There’s no holding back this time, no pacing themselves for the benefit of civilians. Every moment they waste means more souls lost to She Who Thirsts.

They arrive back on the bridge and skid to a halt. The raiders have already arrived. Giant, twisted hulks of flesh and metal swipe at her kin with rusted blades and hooked claws. With horror, Jian realizes that these, too, were once eldar, tortured and altered to unbelievable degrees. One of the _things_ strikes a woman with the tip of a claw. It’s only a scratch, but she stumbles backwards, shrieking in pain and a moment later she lies on the ground, twitching and moaning.

Frantically, she searches the melee for her mother as she readies her sword. She’s here, she has to be-

“JIAN!” Verynia shouts. “You have your orders and you fucking follow them; do you hear me?”

Her head snaps around just in time to catch sight of the exarch before she disappears behind a particularly large creature. She moves in a blur, her glaive striking over and over again and bringing death with it each time. “Yes, m’am!” she yells in response, although she’s not sure if Verynia can hear her.

The second phase of their evacuation is a team of engineers. After a few moments of anxious searching, Jian hears a call from one of her sisters. “Over here!”

She and Kayna rush to the source of the shout and find Lethe standing over the five aeldari who’ve huddled under a console. As she begins helping them to her feet, Kayna waves off the trio of rangers who’ve been guarding the hiding place. Their job here is done for the moment.

The engineers prove more physically capable than the diplomats, and the second phase of the evacuation is going even more quickly than the first.

A single level down, however, Kayna skids to a halt at the head of the group. Jian picks up on it too a moment later. Something is wrong.

Before they have time to react, the wall just in front of them caves in with a horrendous shriek of twisting metal and clouds of foul-smelling smoke. The impact knocks one of the engineers from his feet and he careens into Jian, throwing her off balance. With horror, she realizes blood is pooling onto his robes from a hole burned in his chest. She looks up.

Almost serenely, a Talos pain engine floats into the hallway, scorpion tail ready to fire its weapons at the group once again.

Jian dives out of the way of the spray of black energy, rolling back to her feet and charging forward. A woman screams behind her as a shot must find its home- one of the engineers? Aya? Dehina?

Keyna and Elreth have darted under the Talos’ rounded body to carve at its underbelly, so she charges straight for the strange head. It reaches out with crab-like claws, but she leaps out of the way, using the momentum to run up the bare flesh of its arm and onto its back. If she can damage its ranged weaponry, that will buy them time to deal with it without as much risk of civilian casualties.

Her feet slide on the smooth metal armor and for a moment, she fears she will fall, but she manages to right herself in time to slash at the tip of the Talos’ tail with her power sword. It shudders and raises again, a hint more slowly, to turn towards her. She strikes again, and again, and again, giving the guns no chance to aim at her until the entire end of the tail falls to the floor in a burst of sickly greenish liquid.

Instinct tells her to dive out of the way and she throws herself to the ground. An instant later, the entire left side of her body, shoulder to knee, is on fire and she stumbles forward, pawing at the paneling of her armor and gasping for breath. By the time the pain stops increasing and becomes a steady throb of heat, her sisters have reduced the Talos to a smoldering heap of flesh and armor.

Jian straightens up and takes a deep breath as Aya lets out a wail of grief. Her blood-sister, Lethe, lies on the ground, blood seeping from a trio of holes in her stomach and a steaming yellow fluid leaking from the glassy eye visible through her shattered mask. Her body still twitches.

Sidestepping yet another body, which she realizes belongs to Dehina, Jian moves to help the four remaining engineers forward as Elreth collects the waystones of the dead. The loss of two of her sisters doesn’t register the way it should. One of Khaine’s blessings, she’s learned, is to save grief and sorrow for another day. For now, fury is unchecked. The three kabalite warriors that attempt to bar their way further on present no more than a momentary delay.

It’s only as she watches the last of the engineers make their way up the ramp onto the escape ship that Jian has time to look down at her wounds. The acid has worn through both the wraithbone plating and the underlying bodysuit, and the skin beneath is red and dotted with blisters.

She does her best to push down the pain, but now that battle no longer roars in her ears, she finds it harder to ignore. She lags behind the other three as they begin the final stage of evacuation. _We’re going to retrieve my mother,_ she reminds herself. The thought gives her strength and although the pain does not lessen, she finds herself able to push it once again to the back of her mind as they approach the bridge.

As soon as the Banshees arrive, Jian’s wounds are instantly forgotten. The tide of the battle has turned while they were gone, and the aeldari are hard-pressed. The bodies of her kin litter the floor as dozens of drukhari warriors roam through the carnage. Jian even spots several incubi, clad in flanged and spiked black armor and wielding massive hooked klaves. Where is Verynia?

What remains of the squad moves forward, cutting down their foes in a desperate bid to reach the survivors. Through an instant’s break in the chaos that arounds her, Jian sees her mother, a pair of guardians at her side, wraithbone saber striking at any who come too close. Her face is entirely free of distraction as she fights for her life.

If she’s going to rescue her, it has to be now. There’s no way she can hold out much longer. Jian charges forward, sword in hand.

Something wraps around her legs and she falls, the impact of the deck plating stunning her momentarily as a massive weight settles onto her back. Through her peripheral vision, she can see at least half a dozen giant, serpentine creatures approaching her. Keyna’s body falls in front of her, headless.

 _No. I have to keep fighting._ Her sword is no longer in her hand and she scrambles around on the floor for it. One of the creatures moves in front of her and she screams her frustration through her mask. It, too falls, bleeding from its eyes and mouth.

Jian’s flash of triumph is short-lived. A second creature stands behind the first, a sword clenched in two of its four muscular arms. It strikes at her head and her mask falls to the floor, split in two. The weight on her back shifts forward, forcing her shoulders against the floor.

“JIAN!” Her mother’s scream rises above the noise of battle and Jian sees her turn in her direction… providing just enough distraction that a shot of dark energy strikes her in the gut. She falls to the floor. 

“MOTHER!” Jian shrieks, before realizing her mistake and clamping her mouth shut.

The drukhari that have been closing in part and a woman steps through the space they form. She wears no helmet, her skin a sickly pale and her unkempt hair a brilliant red. Blue-grey tattoos mark her face. Jian doesn’t need to be told that she must be the archon of whatever kabal this is. The pride of her bearing, the intricacy of her armor, and the deference shown even by the incubi are evidence enough. Her rifle pulses with the same dark energy that brought Jian's mother to the ground.

Her mother pulls herself to her knees and raises a shuriken pistol. The pain and effort it takes is written plain on her face. Almost casually, the archon raises her rifle and fires two shots, blowing both arms off at the elbows.

Jian keeps struggling. She won’t give up, she _can’t._

Twitching, her mother falls to the ground once again. The archon steps over to her and grabs a fistful of hair, hauling her back to her knees. A wicked smile spreads across the drukhari's face. “What do we have here, huh?”

Jian watches in horror as her mother is dragged across the deck plating, convulsing, eyes rolled back in her head with pain. She can’t breathe, she can’t move, she can’t-

The archon stops in front of her. “Did I hear right? Is this pathetic carcass what’s left of your mother?” Jian feels a pull at her own hair, forcing her head back to look up into that cruel face. “Were you too slow and weak to save her?”

“Let. Her. Go,” Jian spits out. It’s less than nothing, but if she gives up, admits that it’s over-

The archon laughs. “No. I have _plans_ for her.”

Shifting her grip to keep ahold of Jian’s mother, the drukhari pulls a strange dagger from her belt. The blade seems almost to be made of a pitted, stained bone, shot through with channels of dirty yellow liquid. Without hesitation, she plunges it into the other woman’s chest.

Her mother screams in a way Jian has never heard before, in a way she never thought any living thing _could_ scream _._ Her spasms increase and the sound grows more and more strained until it suddenly turns to a rough, guttural roar and blood dribbles from her mouth. Still the noise continues.

Jian can only watch in silent horror, transfixed, unable even to continue struggling. Everything in her wants nothing more than to shut out what’s going on, but she can’t look away as her mother’s body shrivels and twists and eventually stills, turning into a pale, dried husk that barely resembles the woman it once held.

The archon pulls something else from her belt, a small pyramid of polished black stone. Jian has never walked the Path of the Seer, but even she can feel the unwholesome energy radiating from it. Tapping the side, the archon raises it to the waystone at her mother’s chest and watches as the gem, too, turns to an ashen white shadow of itself. The pyramid begins to glow an eerie purple.

Jian screams, matching the echoes of her mother’s cries that still reverberate through the room, putting all her pain and rage into the sound to form a banshee’s wail of her own. Smiling even wider, the archon squats down and blows a kiss at Jian in mocking gesture of farewell.

The forceful exhalation is too much for her mother’s corpse and it disintegrates into a cloud of ash. Jian’s scream cuts off as the powder rolls over her, coating her face and her armor and _BY KHAINE IT’S IN HER MOUTH_. She coughs and spits and chokes, writhing in her captors’ grip as she tries to get it off her, get it off, get it off, _getitoffgetitoff-_

Once again, the archon laughs as she stands up, brushing ash from her armor. “And just think: None of this would have happened if you’d been a _real_ warrior. How pathetic.”

Jian’s eyes blur with tears. Each word falls on her like a blow. _Please, Isha, just let me die now._

“But don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you a new home, one where you’ll never bring suffering and death to your loved ones again. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll even manage to be useful to someone.”

The words echo through Jian’s mind as the archon turns her back and walks away. One of the incubi steps forward and aims an armored boot at Jian’s head. The world goes black.

****

_The young Howling Banshee sags in the sslyth’s grip, unconscious. As the archon moves to inspect the rest of her prizes, her crew swarms the girl, stripping her of everything that could be dangerous or valuable and binding her hand and foot. Their work finished, they move on to the next captive, leaving her lying helpless and insensate in a pile of white ash._


	2. Emptiness

Jian awakes in what she can only assume is the hold of the drukhari ship. Her head throbs and even the dim light hurts her eyes. The rest of her body aches and burns and stings in so many ways she’s not sure if she could pick them out individually. Darkness slips back over her and she lets it take her into unawareness.

When she comes to a second time, little seems to have changed, although she can keep her eyes open now. Her skin is dry and itchy and feels oddly gritty.

 _My mother is dead._ The thought overwhelms everything else in her mind and it crushes her. Her mother, dead, her waystone shattered. Her soul now the possession of the archon to feast on and revel in the pain or to sell to someone else who will do the same. Jian tries to call to mind a pleasant memory of her mother, her smile, the warmth of her embrace, the taste of the meat that she enjoyed smoking and drying for her family. But all that she can see is her agonized death mask, and all that she can taste is the bitter tang of her ashes. Sobs wrack Jian’s body, but her eyes remain dry.

She feels a sharp sting in her leg, followed an instant later by a horrific, formless pain that races over her entire body in a wave and breaks, leaving her weak. Her cry of alarm only brings another sting, on her shoulder, followed by the same agony. So she holds in her emotions and does her best to remain quiet as, for the first time, she ventures outside her own head.

Her armor and weapons are gone, leaving her clad in only the tight shorts and sleeveless top she had been wearing underneath the body glove. Her hands are cuffed above her head and her feet chained together and attached to a ring in the deck plating, forcing her into a hunched sitting position. Although she can’t tell exactly what’s at her back, it feels like some kind of pole or support beam.

From her position, she can see others of her kin from the ship, perhaps two dozen of them. All bound, all wounded to some degree, all looking as defeated and exhausted as she feels, although not all have been attached to anything solid like she has been. Many she recognizes, although there is no one she knows as more than a name or a face. None of them seem to want to look at her. They blame her, she’s certain. The protector who failed to protect them.

Some dim part of her brain that’s still capable of thought realizes that there are probably more survivors that she can’t see from her position, but her efforts to look around only bring another whiplash from the man that stands nearby.

As time stretches on, Jian grows used to her new situation. She’s lost all sense of time, but it must be days, weeks at least she sits in the dark. Although she’s never fed or given anything to drink, she doesn’t feel the effects of hunger or thirst as acutely as she might. She wonders if that’s the purpose of the injections that all the prisoners are repeatedly given. At first, she tries to count how many she receives, but gives up when she realizes she doesn’t know how much time there is between them, or even if it’s the same interval each time. Besides, there can be only one destination. What does it matter how long it takes to get there?

She and the others nearby are guarded by a rotating roster of what she surmises by appearance and comments to be low-ranking warriors of the kabal. They rarely speak to each other and never to the craftworlders, but are quick to strike out with the green-glowing whips any time someone makes a sound, or if they judge that someone has moved too much. So she stays still and silent, and in the stillness, she thinks of Reena and of her father. By now they must know that something is wrong. She tries to keep from imagining their grief and wonders what happened to Verynia, and to the rest of her sisters. The line of thought is full of sorrow, but when she lets her mind drift from the losses, she is instead forced to consider what will befall her when they reach Commeragh. Will it be a slow, torturous death, or centuries endless toil and a slow grinding into dust?

Yet even these ugly fears are preferable to remembering her mother’s death, a scene that nonetheless torments her over and over again throughout the long hours. She must sleep at some point, but it’s little different than being awake, the dreams only slightly more vivid than her own recollections.

One man, who wears tattered healer's robes, must lose his mind from fear and begins to babble and wail incoherently. When kicks and whiplashes fail to quiet him, the guard on duty rips his tongue from his mouth without hesitation. They drag him away a while later and Jian doesn’t see him again.

Over the course of the journey, various drukhari visit the hold to slake their lusts on one or another of the prisoners. Unlike the normal silence, the guards seem to welcome the screams and struggles as their fellow raiders take their pleasure.

This, at least, she is spared, although she has no idea why. She certainly doesn’t escape the attentions of her captors. Men and women both, she learns to silently accept their hands thrust roughly down her shirt and pawing at her thighs and tugging on her ears, accompanied by crude descriptions and threats that paint color to her starkest fears. Every word and touch builds a cringing, sick feeling in her, but the pole and the chains leave her nowhere to escape but her own head, where nightmares drive her back out and into sharp awareness of each moment.

After the healer has been gone for several injections, one of the guards approaches her. She doesn’t look up. _Why bother?_

The guard grips her chin, forcing her to lift her head. She’s a drukhari girl, Jian’s own age or maybe even younger, with long, shiny black hair and a wicked grin on her face.

“See? What did I tell you?” says her companion, a redhead in an off-duty outfit, but otherwise very similar to the guard in appearance and mannerism.

“Hmm… I think you’re right.” They giggle to each other as the redhead hands the guard a small silver bag. She goes to work, smearing Jian’s face with powders and liquids, twisting her head this way and that, pausing to lean back and inspect her work. Finally, she holds up a hand mirror, clearly expecting her work to be admired.

The makeup is garish, cheap products hastily applied, but even Jian can tell what it was meant to imitate: the purple-haired, robed woman who often appears at the archon’s side, an attendant or courtesan of some sort. For a moment she stares at her reflection, searching for the source of amusement.

It’s only then that she realizes with horror why her own face looks so strange to her. Under the heavy eyeliner and smears of red shadow, the blood-colored lips and drawn on eyebrows, her skin is coated in pale grey powder that matches the other woman’s white skin. Her mother’s ashes.

She turns her head in sorrow and revulsion and the drukhari girl steps away, laughing raucously with her friend. Jian has no idea what the joke is, but they apparently find it intensely funny. So do the next few shifts of guards.

The other slaves look at her even less after that.

Still more endless time passes, much the same as before, but with the addition of the humiliating laughter that makes her long to tear away her skin to be free of her the constant, agonizing presence of her mother’s pain. But at some point, she feels something, perhaps some slight change in the air currents of the hold or the tiny vibrations of the deck plating. The ship has stopped.

Not long after, a large group of kabalite warriors appear, carrying a mass of chains and shackles. They drag about half of those present into a line, binding them together and forcing them to their feet and out of Jian’s sight. Perhaps a few hours later, they return and drag off four more, all of whom appear to have been minor ship’s officers. This process is repeated again and again, the groups growing smaller each time, until Jian sits alone, watched over still by the ever-present guard.

Finally, it’s her turn. It might be the same warriors that came at first, or it may have been different ones each time, she has no way of knowing. They unfasten her bindings and push her to the floor, several of the men pinning her limbs to keep her from moving, but she doesn’t fight. There’s no point. There’s only enduring as they tear the remaining clothing from her body, leaving her naked and exposed to their hungry gazes.

In a way, it would almost be a relief for her fears to finally realize. But instead, the same black-haired girl from before steps forward and slides her into a pair of tiny black lace panties, barely enough to cover her. Jian finds herself roughly hauled to her feet, one drukhari clasping each arm as they carry her through the ship and outside.

_Commoragh._

The city of her darkest nightmares overwhelms her with sound and smell and movement. Bruised sky spreads above them, stabbed with twisted spires and buildings larger than she’s ever seen. The streets bustle with drukhari and their slaves of every race she knows of and many she doesn’t. Above their head swarm flying vehicles and flocks of some kind of eldar-sized bird. The air is cold on her bare skin and heavy with the odors of death and decay.

Before she can process the sudden onslaught of sensations, her captors move off, half-carrying, half dragging her through the twisted streets. They make casual conversation as they go, as though this is the most normal thing in the galaxy. And, indeed, it seems as though very few pay them more than passing attention. Jian watches their progress wide-eyed, grateful even for the horrific sights in front of her as any kind of distraction from her own situation.

They reach their destination fairly quickly, however, and even that slight reprieve ends. The archon and her female companion stand waiting inside the building they enter, next to a small platform. As they set her on it, a pair of shackles automatically wrapping around her ankles to hold her in place, Jian can feel the soles of her feet pierced with dozens of tiny needles. She cries out and for once, no one strikes her. Instead, they haul her arms above her head and the man holding her up steps away as an identical set of restraints encircle her wrists, keeping her roughly in a standing position. More needles pierce her palms and she sags, unable to hold herself up, as clear walls rise around her, locking her in a glass tube barely wider than she is.

The slavers fiddle with the exterior of the cage for a few minutes and Jian’s eyes close. She’s so tired, so weak, so overwhelmed by her pain and grief that she can’t bring herself to care about what’s going to happen to her next. The world around her shudders and through her closed eyes she notices a change in the light outside.

A moment later, music begins to play, loud and strangely upbeat. A shock of electricity races through her body, making her jerk involuntarily, followed an instant later by another one, and another. She drags her eyes open to see a slowly rotating view of the street outside, the music attracting onlookers. The electrical pulses continue, matching the beat of the music to create a twisted mockery of a sensual dance.

Yet again, time loses its meaning. An endless stream of passerby continues unslowed. Some stop to watch her humiliation, others walk past without so much as a second glance. A stitch grows in her side, becoming more and more painful until it, too, disappears. One of the kabalites that guards the cage begins to pleasure himself to the performance until his companions force him to stop. It seems to her that it’s more because they find it annoying than anything else. A deep flush of shame heats her cheeks and ears and her head bows again. Hair falls into her face and she welcomes its presence to cover her.

The music stops and the walls slide down. A severe-looking woman in tiny scraps of fitted black leather approaches her, lips pursed. She examines Jian critically, prodding her like a cut of meat, opening her mouth, and even sliding down the underwear to inspect what little they had covered. Apparently, she doesn’t like what she sees, as she steps away shaking her head. The walls rise again and the dance resumes.

She hardly registers this latest indignity. Her body barely seems like her own, anymore. Just a damaged, soiled puppet carrying her to whatever doom lies at the end of her journey.

Not long after, the music stops again. She looks up. The redheaded archon stands in front of her cage, talking to another drukhari, a man in bone-white and green armor that exceeds even the archon’s in quality and detail. Jian drags her mind back into her body as the archon gestures excitedly. “Don’t worry, Lord Aire, the girl is top quality. Ex-banshee, she’ll make a great trophy with just enough fight left in her to give you some fun later. Almost sorry I’m not keeping her for myself.”

The other man says nothing, simply holding out what Jian assumes to be money. The archon takes it and shakes his hand.

Before the significance of this can penetrate the fog in Jian’s mind, the bands around her wrists and ankles retract, the bottom slides away from the cage, and she falls to the ground. A jolt of pain races up her body as her knees slam down on the cobbled street with a crack. She tumbles forward into a heap. The archon is still speaking, apparently unwilling to leave her sales pitch incomplete. “… told my men to leave her untouched, my scanners picked up on her virginity.” She snorts and pokes Jian roughly with the tip of her boot to urge her up. “Typical banshee. She’s probably a pussy-only girl, but I’m sure she’ll learn to take dick just as well with proper training.”

Shakily, Jian raises herself on her hands. As she does, something wraps around her neck, cold and smooth. A collar. She looks up, along the silver chain attached to it, into the face of the man who holds her fate now.

He’s older than she is, she judges, but not old, with the same pale skin as all of the dark ones and long hair, silver-white like her own, worn loose. Stark black tattoos mark his skin, lines radiating from his forehead down his face and coloring his upper lip. He looks almost bored with the situation. “I suppose you’ll have to do,” he says. “Are you ready to leave?”

Jian blinks in surprise before nodding automatically. It’s not as though she has any choice.

“Well then, get up.” He tugs at the leash. “And try to make it look as though you actually want to be at my side as we depart, I have a reputation to uphold.”

 _Get up?_ Jian can barely imagine sitting without her arms to prop herself up with, but the memory of the whiplashes and the knowledge that this new, unknown drukhari will likely do far worse if she doesn’t obey forces her to try. It takes several attempts, but she finally rises. Her legs shake and her feet throb and sting as she puts weight on torn soles, but she is indeed standing.

The man in front of her remains silent, watching her almost expectantly. She feels the stares of the crowd that’s gathered to watch and her head spins, black gathering at the edges of her vison. She wraps her arms around her chest, as much an effort to physically hold herself together as an attempt at modesty, and does her best to form her face into a smile.

This proves an even harder task. Eventually, however, the man nods, apparently satisfied. He steps closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The contact knocks her off balance and she finds herself leaning on him for support. An instant later, he scoops her up into his arms, bridal style, and begins to carry her away to whatever home he plans for her. Jian can only hope that it won’t take too long for her to die.

* * * *

_Cheers and whoops erupt from the crowd as the drukhari walks off with his prize, studiously ignoring the attention. The battered, filthy slave girl in his arms is frozen, staring up at him with glassy eyes and trembling with cold and exhaustion. Still, he pays her no more mind than it takes to occasionally keep her from slipping from his grasp and his expression remains carefully neutral._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a good time to talk a bit about eldar sexuality, or at least how I headcanon it for the purposes of this fic. 
> 
> In writing this, I'm working from the premise that sexualities are distributed approximately the same as they are among humans in real life. For craftworld eldar, that's all there is to it. However, in drukhari society, sex has become almost completely divorced from love, affection, or even really pleasure or attraction. This has been coupled with the well-known psychological fact that sexual assault and rape are much more about power and/or sadism than they are about sex to wind up with a situation in which most dark eldar are *functionally* bisexual, even if the majority of them would strongly prefer an opposite-sex pairing if they were looking to have sex purely for fun (and some would strongly prefer same-sex).
> 
> While we're at it, despite the archon's assumptions to the contrary, Jian is actually bisexual (as is Lord Aire) although Reena is exclusively attracted to women.


	3. Possession

The man carrying Jian- her owner, she realizes dismally- stays silent for the rest of their journey. Once they’re away from the crowd, people seem to pay them little attention. Small mercies. Her side throbs as her acid burns rub against the ridges and curves of his armor.

Before long, he steps through a small arch and she can instantly feel a slight change in the atmosphere. The air is warmer and the wind stronger and coming from a different direction. They stand on a small landing platform, a vehicle of similar kind to those she saw on her arrival in Commorragh parked nearby. She notices that it’s painted in the same bone white and muted green color scheme as the man’s armor.

A kabalite warrior in matching livery approaches them, bowing as he does. “Greetings, my lord. Would you like me to fly you to your quarters, or-“

“Yes,” the man cuts him off. The archon, she realizes. The thought fills her with a renewed sense of dread. Only the powerful and ruthless rise to lead their own kabal, she knows this. And to be his trophy, his _plaything-_

She begins to shake again.

This trip is longer, despite the increased speed of their movement. Whatever subspace of the dark city they’ve entered must be quite large. Still, the archon says nothing, and still Jian remains motionless in his arms.

When they finally touch down, he exits the flyer without a word to the pilot and carries her indoors. The building is an empty, nearly silent place, all soaring ceilings with curved beams and pale grey walls. The few drukhari who move around the space are nearly all women, most wearing long braids and elaborate robes. They, too, pay him deference.

At the top of a long spiral staircase, he enters a room. Jian hears the door slide shut and lock behind them. A moment later, the archon lets out a long sigh and sets her down. The movement catches her off-guard and she stumbles, throwing out a hand for support and landing on his arm.

He waits for her to steady herself before stepping away, tossing her leash over the back of a nearby chair and heading towards a doorway at the far end of the room. A raised hand signals for her to remain where she is, but Jian has no intention of moving. She’s not even sure whether she can stand much longer. She looks around.

The room appears to be the living area of a bedroom suite, more richly decorated than anything she’s ever seen before. Again, her heart sinks. If he’s brought her to his bedroom, that can mean only one thing. She wraps her arms around herself, wishing desperately for something more to cover her than the single scrap of lace and silk. Her entire skin crawls and something clenches at her throat.

A moment later, the archon reappears. His armor is gone, replaced with a heavy, embroidered robe left open over a simple shirt and pants. His feet, Jian notices, are bare, and he carries something she can’t quite make out.

He approaches her and she tries not to back away. She can’t breathe. _Just let it happen, there’s nothing you can do._

Something soft wraps around her. A short, thin robe in rich emerald green. “Here you are,” he says, guiding her arms into the sleeves and tying the belt around her waist. The smooth satin feels wrong against her damaged skin. Marks are already appearing where the sweat and grime that cake her have started to contaminate the fabric.

He steps away again to take a seat at a table nearby. With a start, she realizes that it’s loaded with food: fruit and bread and honey and cream. A light dinner for two. She didn’t even notice it earlier.

“Come, you must be hungry.” The archon pours himself a glass of wine. Jian looks down at herself, at the robe and her bare legs below it. Her leash drags on the ground.

She looks up again. A second chair sits on the other side of the small table, but the archon hasn’t pulled his chair in at all. He remains facing her. Watching her. The expectation is clear.

For the first time in weeks- or has it been months? - she has a choice. Take a seat on the other chair… or on him… The thought overwhelms her. She tries and fails to steady her breathing and lurches forward.

The archon reaches out to help guide her into his lap as she approaches. It wasn’t a choice. She’s on autopilot, the thought of trying to resist too much to contemplate. For a moment, her attention is taken up by settling into a balanced position, and then she’s there and free to look at the food.

Food. How long has it been since she’s had anything to eat at all? Her hand reaches out involuntarily and she pauses, realizing she was never given permission to take anything. But only for an instant. The lure of having something to fill her empty stomach after so long is too strong. She picks up a piece of fruit and raises it to her mouth.

Something touches her head and she flinches. A hand stroking slowly, almost gently. “That’s a good girl.” The archon’s voice is low in her ear.

She takes a bite. Color explodes in her mouth and she gasps as the juice washes over her cracked lips and dry mouth. A sting that’s somehow the sweetest thing she’s ever felt. She chews quickly, biting her tongue in her haste to eat until the entire thing is gone and reaches for a piece of bread. The archon still caresses her hair.

A ghost of a thought darts across her mind. The survival training that all craftworld children receive, repeated and expanded upon during her time with the Banshees. _The worst you can do after not eating for a long time is to gorge yourself._ She tries to take smaller bites, to chew slowly and savor each piece and watch for signs that she’s being poisoned or drugged. That’s probably his plan, to dose her with chemicals that will cloud her mind and fill her body with pain.

But no signs of it appear. She finishes the bread and picks up another slice, taking the time to drizzle this one with honey.

The archon shifts his position slightly. “My name is Lord Valthiel Aire, and I am the archon of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose.” His voice is still soft, and, she realizes, accented differently than the other drukhari she’s met. She turns to look up at him, bread still in her hand, and nods. She understands.

He sighs. “Which is your cue to introduce yourself as well, my dear. Who are you? What’s your name?”

Introduce herself? To him? A sudden, violent disgust seizes her, the revulsion and fear she’s felt ever since the first hand claimed her as a _thing_ becoming an iron-clad line. She swallows. When she manages to get words out, she barely recognizes her own voice. It’s the first time she’s spoken since her mother died. “I don’t want to tell you.” She readies herself for a blow.

It never comes. The archon tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

She takes a deep breath. “Because I do not want to hear the name used by my mother and my lover polluted by your lips. Give me whatever name you like and I will answer to it. But let my old life die with my sisters and- “ Another choke of emotion seizes her and she finds herself unable to keep speaking. It’s probably for the best. Every bit of herself that she lets slip into this place is another way he’ll make her suffer later. Best to forget it and accept her new path, however short it may be.

“I see. You mean I will pollute your name by saying it? That I am unworthy of it?”

Looking down, Jian tries to figure out what to say that won’t trigger his wrath. “You- you will pollute the memories of my old life. They’re the only thing I have now. My life belongs to you from this point forward. Please, do not take my past as well.”

The archon begins to stroke her thigh. Pinpricks race across her skin and she holds still, waiting. “Is that a request? Or a demand?” Still, he speaks calmly, but Jian detects a dangerous undertone.

“I am not in a position to make demands. But I will not give it to you willingly.”

Another silence stretches out as her terror grows.

His arm moves up and wraps around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “Very well. I will honor your wish.” Jian can feel him playing idly with the ties of her robe. “How about Vixen? Does that name suit you?”

“Alright.” It doesn’t matter, really. The defiance has left her and it once again feels as though even the thought of defying him is too much. He could have picked something worse. “Thank you… my lord.” It seems as though this is the proper way to address him. If he doesn’t like it, she’ll find out.

It seems acceptable, however, as he smiles and reaches out to place a delicate glass goblet of clear liquid in her hands. “You are welcome, Vixen. Now, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

She raises the glass and takes a sip. Wine. Her filthy hands leave smudges of blood on the glass where the cage tore at them. “I- I was a warrior. Of the Howling Banshees aspect.” Not that it had mattered in the end. “I was captured while attempting to evacuate the crew of the naval vessel- “

The archon cuts her off with a gesture. “That is bound to be a sad and tragic tale, though. Tell me about something happier. What was your life like on the craftworld where you grew up?”

This is worse. Tears spring to Jian’s eyes and she pushes them back down fiercely. She will not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. “I am from the craftworld Yme-loc. And I followed the path of the warrior. Please, my lord. Do not ruin my memories of better times by forcing me to bring them here.” Her soul aches with the realization that this, too, is completely dependent on her master’s whim.

“Very well. What about hobbies? What do you like to do besides fighting?”

She looks up. “Why do you care?” Perhaps it might be worse to know, but she can’t help but ask. “What do you plan to do with me?”

Sighing, the archon readjusts his grip around her. “I simply want to see if I can facilitate some of said interests. It might make your stay here more pleasant.” His hand resumes its slow traverse up and down her naked thigh.

“I like to sing. And to play chess.” She can’t find it in herself to fight him anymore. He will take what he wants from her mind just as he will take it from her body. It will be best to get it over with. 

He smiles. “I’ll have to have you sing for me one day soon. But I’m sure you are too tired for that tonight, yes?”

Before she has a chance to respond, he kisses her. His lips are cold and send a wave of the same icy crawling feeling washing over her. She feels herself tense, her body trying to shrink itself to nothing to escape from his touch, but she is as trapped here as she was on the ship.

A moment later, he pulls away. His face is still very close to hers and his breath is hot on her forehead.

She looks up. For the first time that night, she forces herself to meet his gaze. Golden eyes, more concerned than predatory. She realizes that he’s waiting for her to speak. Does he _want_ her to fight back? The other archon had promised him something of the sort. “I cannot stop you from taking what you want, Lord.”

It seems to be the only invitation he needs. He kisses her again. Hands slide along her waist, up to caress her breasts and around, pulling her closer. The flimsy robe begins to slide off her shoulders and the archon’s breathing is loud in her ears. She closes her eyes. Waves of sickness and horror wash over her, and when they break, they leave room for a curious excitement as she can’t help but respond physically to a man who seems to know exactly which parts of her body to explore.

And then the kiss ends abruptly. She still wears the thin, lacy panties and the robe is still half-wrapped around her. The archon reaches up to brush a ratted strand of hair away from her face and smiles again. “It’s been a long day, and you have more than earned your rest. We can continue later. Do you want me to call someone to show you to your room, or would you prefer to finish your dinner first?”

Jian stares, shocked. “I would like to go to my room now, yes.” Her room? This, too, is an unknown, but even chains and cold stone would mean getting away from him for a bit. It means a brief reprieve before the agony starts.

Lord Aire taps a bracelet on his wrist. A moment later, the door opens and a drukhari woman steps through. Tall and slim, dressed in black and grey robes similar to the other women she’s seen here, she wears her brilliant blue-green hair in the same long braid as well. “You called, Valthiel?”

“Yes. This is Vixen, and she is ready to be shown to her room.” He begins to maneuver Jian off his lap. Her legs buckle and he helps her regain her footing before he speaks again. “Vixen, this is Lynx, another one of my… subordinates. You have no need to be afraid of her, she is here to help you.”

Jian eyes the other girl nervously, but nods in acceptance and begins to walk shakily towards her before stopping, confused. She should say something before she leaves. Turning to face him once again, she bows, a formal, businesslike gesture that she’s seen used before and after meetings on Yme-loc. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.” The leash drags on the floor as she bends.

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do, to say. She doesn’t know anymore. She doesn’t know if anyone cares.

The archon says nothing, watching as Lynx picks up the leash and leads her out of the room. They walk a way down the hallway and begin to descend a staircase before her guide speaks. “You stink and your makeup is atrocious.”

Her face heats up in shame as mocking laughter and her mother’s screams echo in her mind. “I didn’t do it myself.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix it.” The woman- Lynx, she supposes- stops in front of a door, unlocking it before leading Jian in. Inside is dimly lit and surprisingly large, but Jian catches a glimpse of a bed and a massive, heart-shaped bathtub. Lynx shuts the door behind her and unhooks the chain from Jian’s collar. “There we go. Now, why don’t you run a bath while I fetch some things. We’ll need to work on that hair of yours.”

A bath. For the first time in what must be weeks, genuine excitement spreads across her face and she runs toward the tub, stumbling on the way. Reaching it, she turns on the water and holds her hands under the stream. Her legs buckle and she leans against the rim for support. It almost doesn’t feel real. A scent of flowers wafts up from the water and she stares mesmerized as pink and purple bubbles rise and pop. She can lose herself in their movements and not think about anything else…

Jian shakes herself from her reverie and turns the tap off before it can overflow. Lynx isn’t back yet, but she can’t bear to wait any longer. 

The water stings in her cuts as she climbs in and she gasps with a pleasant shock of the heat. Dark clouds of filth float off her skin. Dried sweat and blood, Commorragh street grit, smoke, and grime all rub away, leaving pale skin below. Too pale.

Her mother’s ashes.

She scrubs harder. Her skin remains nearly white. _Oh, Isha, please say it’s not permanent!_ She draws in a shuddering breath that does nothing; she’s breathing faster and faster but she’s still choking. It has to come off, it has to. Digging her nails into her flesh, she tears at it, trying to pull away the layers that have been stained to uncover her real skin. _Please, it can’t-_

“Hey! What are you doing?” Lynx grabs at her arms.

In her weakened state, Jian can’t hope to fight her off and she falls limp. “They won’t come off,” she sobs.

“What won’t come off?”

“The ashes, they _did_ something to them.”

Lynx sighs. “Calm down. I said I would help you, did I not?” She begins to scrub her with a cloth. “See?” Jian watches her progress. With the addition of soap, the white is beginning to come off. Still, her own tawny skin seems to have lightened a shade or two. “What did I tell you?” Lynx looks annoyed.

Somehow, the question is enough to collapse the thin wall of numbness she has left holding her together. The world crumples into a blurred mess as she begins to cry.

Arms wrap around her and pull her to the edge of the tub. Jian can’t help but hug back as Lynx presses her against her shoulder. Something, anything to hold on to in order to keep from flying to pieces.

How long she cries, she has no idea, but eventually she can breathe without it catching in her throat. The tears stopped long ago. “I should finish this,” she murmurs, picking up the discarded cloth. “Let you do your other duties.” If nothing else, the archon will likely want company in his bed tonight. Perhaps she should have stayed, to spare Lynx, but the thought is performative. Her turn will come soon enough in any case.

“I have nowhere else to be for the moment.” Lynx begins to brush her hair, slowly and carefully untangling the matted knots that Jian has barely noticed until now.

“Thank you.” She swallows. “Is he- is he very cruel? To you?”

“No, not at all. Why do you ask?”

She doesn’t seem to be lying, but the answer does nothing to make Jian feel better. “I just want to know what to expect.”

“Well, he is quite domineering, but gentle. I usually enjoy myself when we sleep together.”

“That’s something, at least.” Jian looks down at the water, which is turning an ugly grey-brown color with dirt. “Did he buy you from the raiders too?”

“No.” She hesitates. “I was, erm, already associated with the Ashen Rose when he took over. Not working directly for them, but for another kabal and its archon via a contract. I… did not enjoy the assignment at all, and our lord was kind enough to purchase said contract, provided I work for him instead.”

“I see. I’m glad you are happier here.”

“I’m sure you will be too. You just need to give it time.”

“Maybe… I just… I want to go home.”

“Hey,” Lynx’s voice turns harsher and she tugs at Jian’s hair. “You could try to be a bit more appreciative. Unless you want him to sell you to someone else. This is Commorragh, after all.”

She doesn’t respond. Perhaps Lynx is right. Perhaps she should be grateful for whatever spots of comfort remain in her life. “Okay. What else am I expected to do around here?”

“I’m not sure. You have been purchased as a concubine primarily, but the rest is between you and the lord. I use my spare time in the alchemy lab, developing some of the poisons and drugs for which we're famed.”

“I see.”

“So, I mean, it was lucky he saw you there in your cage, no? You could have met a far worse fate, bleeding out on the arena floor or sold to the covens. Almost like it was meant to be, right?” Lynx sets down the brush and holds out her hand to help Jian out of the bathtub.

“I’ll try to see it that way.” She accepts the hand and wraps herself in a towel. “Thank you for your help. I really mean that, and I’ll tell him how nice you were.”

“No trouble at all.” The other woman offers her a nightgown, another piece of thin, shiny silk. “Now let’s get you to bed.”

Jian allows herself to be led to the bed and tucked in like a small child. Lynx departs, promising to return in the morning and leaving her in darkness.

For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, she is alone. The bed is soft, piled with pillows of all shapes and sizes and warm, fluffy blankets. Jian can’t remember the last time she felt this comfortable, that she felt comfortable at all. With the cold finally seeped out of her limbs and the sharp pinch of hunger gone from her stomach, all her other aches and pains return, stinging cuts and deep bruises and a throb in her head that won’t go away. Every movement is an acute reminder of the body that no longer belongs to her.

She reaches up to touch the collar around her neck. The archon’s property. All this, the food, the bath, the soft bed, it’s an indulgence from him. Something to make her more attractive when he holds her down and violates her, or to take away if she fails to satisfy him. And when she does fail, just as she has failed to follow Verynia’s orders and to save her mother, he will take the only other thing she has to give him.

There are no tears left in her body, but still, she cries, her grief and fear erupting in muffled sobs until exhaustion overcomes her and she falls into the embrace of her nightmares.

When she wakes, she can’t tell how much time has passed. The room looks no different, the same dim light and heavy shadows. She turns on a lamp and looks around. The bed in which she sits is on one end of the room, next to floor-length curtains that she assumes cover a window. A bookshelf next to a plush chair holds a few books, but stands mostly empty. Jian can see the bathtub she used last night and a vanity, as well as a pair of doors that most likely lead to a washroom and closet. It's certainly no prison cell. In fact, it looks rather comfortable

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, followed by Lynx entering the room. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” She lies. “The bed is very comfortable.” That, at least, is true.

Lynx disappears through one of the doors and reemerges a moment later carrying what Jian quickly realizes is clothing. “Now let’s get you dressed.”

Climbing reluctantly from the warmth of the blankets, Jian allows Lynx to help her into the outfit she’s picked. She soon realizes that the term might be a bit generous for the bits of metal and leather connected by straps. She’s not even sure if she could have figured out how to put it on without assistance.

Apparently satisfied, Lynx steers her towards the mirror. “It looks absolutely amazing on you.” She smiles. “I knew it would.”

Sure enough, the dress- if it can be called that- leaves little to the imagination. Her stomach, back, and most of her chest and thighs are exposed and the sheer gloves and stockings tease at the shape of her arms and legs. It seems to Jian that the entire design is meant to draw attention to the collar around her neck, a slim silver band engraved with roses that might almost be mistaken for a necklace if it didn’t have a loop at the front to connect a leash.

“It’s pretty.” Jian hates it. It reminds her of the cage and of the ship, of the fact that she exists for others’ pleasure. But she’s not Jian anymore. She’s Vixen, the archon’s concubine, and this is how Vixen dresses. She will get used to it. “Does he want to see me right away?”

“If you are ready. Do you think you are?”

She runs her fingers along the collar. “I don’t think I’ll be more ready by waiting longer.”

So Lynx leads her back to the archon’s quarters and guides her inside. At least there’s no leash this time, but she almost wishes there were. It would remove the temptation to run that grows with every passing second. Not that she’d be able to get far. Her shoes have high spike heels that put horrible pressure on her cuts and it’s all she can do not to stumble over every step.

The room looks much the same as it did last night, still lit softly, the table piled high with a fresh load of food. The archon is already seated, dressed in a white silk shirt and black leather pants. He looks up as she enters.

“Good morning, my lord.” She bows her head and waits for a signal that more deference is required. Behind her, she can hear Lynx departing.

“Good morning, my sweet Vixen,” he replies warmly. “Please, help yourself. I’m sure dinner last night was not enough to slake your hunger.”

She takes a seat across from him and begins to serve herself a pile of fruit and small cuts of meat. A stolen glance at him reveals that he looks somewhat surprised. Perhaps he wanted her to sit on his lap again. Should she move? Or will that make things worse?

“So… how are you feeling, all things considered?”

“Much better than yesterday. Thank you for asking.” She barely thinks about what she says. Her mind is on the food, on trying to hold back for a bit longer. It’s difficult. Not only is the archon right about how starved she is, but even through her hunger, she can tell that everything at the table is of the absolute highest quality. The kind of food meant to be eaten for the sole pleasure of consuming it.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He pours what looks like red wine from a carafe and takes a sip. “Does this mean you are ready to resume your duties today?”

Jian swallows. She can’t bring herself to say ‘yes’. But Lynx is right. If she puts him off, he’ll toss her aside for someone else, or worse. “If- if that is what my lord wishes.”

The archon nods slowly. “Well, you may consider yourself on the clock, then.” Picking up his drink, he carries it over to the massive desk piled high with papers and busies himself with one of the stacks.

This is some kind of test, Jian realizes. He wants to see what she will do. She stands and watches him, thinking. She knows what he wants. What she needs to do. But to offer herself up like this…

She walks slowly to his side, wobbling a bit as her heels sink into the thick rug. “Can I be of assistance?” Her voice catches in her throat and comes out very quiet.

He looks up and eyes her for a moment while she waits, breathless. Then he smiles. “My back is somewhat stiff, so you could in fact give me a back rub if you would be so kind.”

A back rub? She reaches out and hesitantly touches his shoulder. There’s no reaction, so she moves forward, kneading into his shoulder muscles and running her hands in circles along his back. Unbidden, a memory forces its way into her brain. Reena, her soft hands on Jian’s own back as she works out the knots from a hard day of sword training at the shrine. She swallows hard and reminds herself to concentrate on the moment.

The archon sighs and she can feel the tension fall away from his posture. “Mmm, that feels good.” The scabs on her palms have cracked and her hands leave red smudges on the back of his shirt. “Now, all you have to do is take care of my erection and after that you can resume your breakfast.”

So focused is she on the massage, that for a moment she doesn’t realize what he’s said. “Is that why you bought me?”

He shrugs. “I bought you because you looked cute. And because I thought you deserved a far better fate than being stuck in that cage, dancing for everyone’s pleasure and amusement. I am still working on my long-term plans for you.”

“I see.” Lynx’s advice returns to her again. “Thank you. I hope I will not give you cause to be disappointed in your purchase.”

“Well, you are off to a promising start.” He looks up, but she can’t quite see his face from her angle. “As long as you don’t forget your new assignment to prove to me exactly how talented your mouth is.”

Jian swallows hard. There can be no more stalling. “You want me to pleasure you? With my mouth?”

“Unless you have a problem with that.”

She shakes her head.

* * * *

_The archon pulls out his chair to give his slave space to kneel in front of him. As he does, it affords him a good look at her. Barely more than a child, with large green eyes made even more prominent by how pinched with hunger her face and body are. She won’t look at him directly. The revealing outfit shows off a patchwork of whip welts, burns, and bruises in all stages of healing and the hand that reaches to undo his pants is marred with small cuts from the cage and wrists torn from struggling against her bonds._

_He leans back in his chair and sips from a goblet of wine, outfit flawless except for the bloodstains left by the girl at his feet. His skin is soft and perfectly smooth and not a hair falls out of place as he reaches down to pat her on the head. “That’s a good girl.”_

_She says nothing and goes to work with grim determination._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Jian as being about the eldar equivalent of late teens, probably 17-19. The Path of the Warrior was her first. 
> 
> Lord Aire is in the equivalent of his mid-20s by drukhari standards, as is Lynx.


	4. Skin

After what seems like a very long time, Jian pulls away. Her mouth is still filled with the thick, sticky remnants of the archon’s semen, and she can feel some of it dribbling down her chin. It didn’t taste as disgusting as she thought it would, but still her stomach seizes. She stares at the carpet, trying not to be sick.

He leans down and kisses her on the top of her head. “Good girl. Now please, go enjoy the rest of your breakfast. You have more than earned it.” His voice is soft and gentle, as though he speaks to a lover.

Bile rises in her throat and she gags, hands flying to her mouth to keep from vomiting on his boots. Blinking back the tears that fill her eyes, she wipes the cum from her face and nods. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Somehow, she’s at the table. Her thin, useless gloves are gone. She tries to remember standing and walking there from the desk, but the time is completely blank. Sitting robotically, she struggles to keep her face neutral and picks up the goblet that waits at her place. Wine. Like everything else here, the taste is exquisite and the alcohol numbs her mouth.

She drains the entire glass before starting her breakfast.

The food is still delicious as well, and she tries to focus on the flavor. _That wasn’t so bad,_ she tells herself. _You could do it again. And again. And again._ A soft yellow fruit sticks in her throat. She pours herself another glass of wine and begins to drink from it.

“You do realize you can tell me no, right?”

Jian looks up, uncomprehending.

“If there’s something you don’t want to do. I mean, I might force the issue, depending, but I do want to hear your thoughts and opinions.”

She takes another swallow of wine and keeps staring. What is he saying?

The archon breaks his own gaze with a shrug. “Why would I give you the ability to speak if I didn’t want you to make use of it?”

Why she answers she can’t say. Perhaps the wine is emboldening her, or perhaps she just can’t let the comment pass without some kind of response. “It’s hard to be honest when my life depends on your happiness.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? That I'll sell you to someone else?”

“Yes. Or that I will no longer please you and you will use me for… other things.”

“I see.” He gazes at his hand for a moment, then looks back at her. “You have my word on my name and ancestors that I will not sell you or send you off to another kabal and that you will always have a home here. Does that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No.” Even through the food, she can still taste him in her mouth.

“You know, I'm not surprised. My word likely means little to you, after all. So let’s see how creative you are. What could I do that would make you feel at home here with me?”

She blinks. It feels like her eyelids are moving through honey and the edges of her vision keep turning grey. It takes her a moment to understand what he’s said. “I thank you from the bottom of my soul for the mercies you have shown me and I pray that I will continue to satisfy your expectations. But I am your slave, lord. You cannot erase that with pretty words or gifts.”

“I see.” If she didn’t know better, she might almost think that he sounded sad. “I suppose there's no point in these sorts of conversations, then?”

Jian turns back to her food. Idly, she pushes a piece of meat across the plate with her fork. The only sound is her own breath- in, out, in, out. Still, she’s uncomfortably aware of every square inch of her body. 

A rustling noise at her shoulder. She looks up. The archon stands there, holding out his hand. “Come with me, dear.” She flinches as his skin touches her own, but allows him to lead her away.

She should have lied. Pretended to be seduced by the power he wields or the size of his cock or whatever would have made him happy.

Jian’s dread grows as the archon takes her up several more staircases. They must be going to the very top of the spire. After what seems like a long time walking in silence, her heart pounding, they emerge into open space.

The breeze tugs at her hair and raises goosebumps on her bare skin as she looks around. He’s brought her to a rooftop garden or arboretum of some kind. They stand on a stone-tiled square perhaps ten meters on each edge. A fountain runs softly in the center and benches and potted plants have been set up nearer the sides. Beyond the patio, Jian can see trees and flower beds stretching to what must be the edge of the building. And beyond that? Beyond that stretches the blue-purple sky, punctuated by other lower spires, a few flyers, and, just visible, a bit of the ground. It almost looks like there might be a forest down there.

“Come, sit,” the archon’s soft voice distracts her from the breathtaking skyline. He gestures towards one of the nearby benches. More of a couch, really, it appears to have been grown rather than made, still-living woody vines forming the frame with cushions placed to sit on.

She obeys instantly, and he sits next to her. Their knees touch, and only the greatest effort keeps her from pulling hers away.

The archon takes both of her hands in his, inspecting them intently. Without a word of commentary, he pulls a small silver container from one of his pockets. A heavy scent of herbs fills her nostrils as he opens it, revealing a pale green cream. Scooping up a glob with the tips of his fingers, he spreads it over her ruined palms and begins to rub it in with his thumbs.

Jian gasps. As the ointment absorbs into her skin, a tiny bit of the pain that has become the background noise of her life subsides, replaced with a release of tension she didn’t realize she was holding as her master massages her hands. She remains frozen, a strange mix of revulsion and pleasure.

After some time, he straightens from his work and begins to dig in his pocket again. Jian stares at her hands in disbelief. The innumerable cuts and needle pricks are gone, the skin flawlessly smooth. Even her wrists, where blisters raised and burst with the endless friction of her forced dance, have stopped weeping, although they still look raw. “Thank you, my lord,” she breathes.

He doesn’t respond, too focused on the contents of a small vial full of crimson liquid. Frowning, he pours a drop onto his finger and reaches for her face where the incubus’ boot connected. Again, that almost electric feeling as whatever he’s using soothes the pain and heals a fraction of the damage her body has sustained. His fingers move over the skin around her eyes slowly.

It seems to her that his entire mannerism has changed. His fingers are hesitant, as though he fears touching her skin almost as much as she dreads the contact. Despite the pressure on the deep bruise, it barely hurts. Jian finds herself dizzy and realizes she’s been holding her breath.

Again he stops, tucking the bottle back into his pants’ pocket. She hadn’t realized how much her black eye had swollen until now, when her vision feels strangely expansive, like her eye is open too wide. Their knees still touch.

The archon bends down and grasps her ankles, pulling her feet into his lap with more of that same soft, almost trembling touch. He takes off the heeled shoes and sets them to the side, then reaches up and begins to roll the stockings down her thighs.

She should have known. Foolish of her, to think of this “kindness” as anything more than what it was: a preparation to again claim her as his property. Her feet begin to bleed again as the stockings take the dried blood that has permeated the fabric with them. _I’m getting blood on his pants._

But he seems not to care. The silver jar reappears and again, he spreads herbal lotion over her wounds. Jian relaxes just a bit. Her reprieve will last a bit longer. And the pain relief is so nice…

Although she’s certain the job is done, her skin repaired, the archon continues to rub her feet. The aches of standing in the shoes disappears, and so does some of the exhausted tension in her calves. Still, he continues. Hair has fallen in front of his face as he leans forward in concentration, keeping her from seeing his expression. She can only sit and tremblingly realize how long it’s been since she’s felt anything like this.

After what she judges to be nearly an hour, he straightens and, for the first time since they left his room, looks directly at her. Jian finds herself unable to look back through the tears that have filled her eyes unnoticed. A hand reaches out to caress her hair. “Is there any other injury that you would like me to look at?” All the persona and authority is gone from his voice. He almost sounds as though he’s afraid she won’t answer.

The tears spill over and she begins to weep softly she holds out her left arm, the spot where the burns are the worst. “If it’s not too much trouble, my lord?”

“What’s wrong?” He pulls her closer to him, arms wrapped around her in what most closely approximates a hug. “Of course I can, but that’s not a reason to cry, is it?”

“I’m sorry, I-“ She can’t tell him the truth. That being near him, feeling his skin on hers, reminds her of what happened not two hours ago. Of what will happen again. That she doesn’t understand what’s going on or why he’s wasting his time trying to fix her. “I am unused to such kindness. I know I have done little but inconvenience you.”

He stiffens and doesn’t respond for a moment. “I’m not sure I would call it a kindness myself. But thank you.” His shoulders heave with a deep breath and the heaviness is gone from his voice when he speaks again. “And I do not find you inconvenient at all.”

She looks up, trying to gauge what might be behind the sudden change in mood. He smiles down at her with what seems to be affection. “I mean, I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you this, but you are remarkably pleasant company.”

“Someone has.” What would Reena think if she could see her now? The thought is too painful; she pushes it away before it overwhelms her. “But thank you. I did not expect to ever hear it again.”

The archon’s arm tightens around her. “It’s the truth.” He holds her in the embrace for another moment before releasing her.

She should make a gesture. Something to show that she appreciates the work he’s gone to on her behalf. “Do you need me to do anything for you? I could give you another back or a hand massage?” Her voice catches. “Or perhaps I could pleasure you again?”

He looks at her sadly for a moment before raising her hand to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “How about you bring us each a blanket from the box under that table over there and you do me the honor of sharing this view?”

“Alright.” She stands and tentatively walks towards the table. The cool stone underfoot feels surprisingly good when it’s not aggravating open wounds.

The table legs, like the couch, appear to have been grown of still-living vines rather than built. Jian takes a moment to run her hand over the twisted surfaces before bending over to finish her task.

“I prefer to work with organic material whenever possible, you know” the archon says from behind her. 

She looks back, trying to figure out if this the beginning of some kind of come-on. “Why? If I am allowed to ask.”

“Of course you can.” He smiles as she begins to walk back with a pair of blankets. “And what can I say? I enjoy seeing things grow and feeling something alive on my skin.”

Jian holds out the blankets and he takes one, leaving her the other. Returning to her place at his side, she wraps herself in it. Instantly, some small part of her fear evaporates. A shield between her and the horrors of the dark city, however flimsy. “The vines remind me of my father’s garden in his dwelling back home.”

“Oh really? What kind of garden?”

“He loved flowers, but herbs as well. We used to-“ She cuts herself off, cursing herself for allowing the memories of her other self to make their way here and worse, to make it out of her head.

“No, please, continue.” He wraps an arm around her, pressing their bodies together again. It’s not quite as bad this time, with her shield protecting her. “I'll share something about myself in return.”

“We would walk there at sunset. Him and me, when I was a small child. We would pick herbs to flavor the meal.” Tears are coming again and she swallows fiercely to keep them at bay.

His fingers tangle in her hair. “I’m afraid we don’t have a sunset here. Like the rest of Commorragh, we live in eternal twilight. But tomorrow we could go for a stroll in the herb garden to pick out something for dinner?”

“Maybe?”

“It sounds like a date, then.” The archon says warmly. He falls silent as he continues to play with her hair. After a long time, he speaks again. “I never knew my parents. My first memory is of serving the mistress of a star ship as we traveled the galaxy, seeking adventure and preying on the weak.”

Jian looks up. “What did you do for her?”

“Initially I was a sort of cabin boy, preparing her bath and clothes, serving her meals, giving her massages, and so on. The tasks were simple, but I learned quickly that there were severe punishments for failing to satisfy her. As I grew, she placed me in charge of inspecting the engine and weapons systems before I eventually earned a place in navigation.”

“I see.” Jian’s spark of interest is turning to annoyance. Such a transparent and needless attempt to gain her sympathy. It’s likely not even true.

“It’s a lovely view, though, is it not?”

“It is. Is all this yours?” She adjusts her position to get a better look, breaking his embrace in the process.

The archon nods. “I am the archon of this kabal, which makes me the lord of this entire pocket dimension.”

“What do you do here?”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole… thing.” She gestures to the view. “What is the purpose of the group?” Perhaps she can learn something about the life that is hers now and get a better sense of the man who holds her chains.

He remains silent for a moment, seeming to be considering his next words. “How much do you know about the Dark Muses of Commorragh?”

“Nothing. The craftworlds try not to think of Commorragh more than we- than they have to.”

“That makes sense. The Dark Muses are a group of exceptional individuals who led our kind through the calamity of the birth of She Who Thirsts. Mortal aeldari who earned their godhood through their own power and excellence. They helped us when our old gods didn’t, and so are still worshiped throughout our civilization, even all these millennia later.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

He shrugs. “Legend says that at the height of our power, nothing was truly outside our grasp, so why not?”

“I suppose.” She frowns, processing the new information. “So this is a temple, then?”

“A monastery, more like it.” Jian can hear the grin in his voice. “To one of the muses in specific: Lhilitu, Consort of the Void and mistress of the night, of seduction and pleasure and the brewing of poisons.” He hesitates. “I am her only living descendant, and thus her heir.”

Jian’s annoyance flares further, but she keeps her voice almost perfectly under control. “If you didn’t want to tell me, you could have just said so.”

He sighs heavily. “Every word of what I just said was true, my dear.”

Frown deepening, she remains quiet. Upon further consideration, it probably is true, or at least he believes it is. Not that it affects her. Goddess blood or no, he still holds her life in his manicured hands. Her grip tightens a bit on his arm nonetheless.

Perhaps sensing the tension, he nuzzles close to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to sprout wings or horns any time soon.”

“So the people here, they worship you?”

“They worship my ancestor, really, but they view my bloodline as divine.” His voice takes on a practiced air, as though he’s reciting or making a speech. “I have been charged with sharing my wisdom and insight with them as we carry out Lhilitu’s ancient traditions.”

“And what would those traditions be?”

“Poison brewing, assassination, and the training of women as Lhameanites to serve as consorts and assassins to high-ranking archons.”

“I see.” She falls silent in contemplation.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks carefully, running a hand along her jawline.

“Just thinking about what you told me, and about Lynx. She said she made poisons and drugs for your kabal. I take it she is one of your Lhameans?”

“She is.” He looks down at her with a soft smile. “Are you pleased with her as your hand maiden and counselor?”

“She seems nice.”

The expression widens into a smirk. “You’re quite awful at being direct, aren’t you?”

“I am sorry, my lord. I will be more clear in the future. But yes, I am very pleased with her. She made me feel much better last night.”

He nods and smiles, pulling her once again into a hug. “I’ll make sure that taking care of you is her primary mission, then.”

Jian returns the gesture. It’s clearly what he wants right now. “Thank you, my lord. As I have said, I cannot express my gratitude for your kindness enough.”

Again, that slight tension in his posture as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “Moments like this more than make up for it,” he says softly. The tension is gone, though, by the time he straightens up. “I planned to have dinner sent up to your room tonight. I’m sure you could use a bit of solitude before Lynx arrives to help you with your bath. You have a long day in front of you tomorrow.”

“What for?” Jian can’t keep a bit of the fear that spikes up out of her voice.

“I planned to have Lynx escort you over to the elder sisters of the kabal so they can give you a full examination and tend to your larger injuries, like those burns.”

“Thank you. Again.” She’s lived with them for so long, the thought of being rid of them is almost too strange to contemplate. Dimly, she wonders what the price for all these mercies will be. “They are the only wounds that have been causing me significant pain.”

“Yes, those don’t look like normal burns to me. How did you get them?”

“It was a Talos Pain Engine. During the raid where I was captured. My sisters and I destroyed it, but it sprayed acid in its death throes and some of it burned through my armor.” As she speaks, a void opens inside her and she can hear the emotion draining from her voice.

“Oh… yes…” He sounds genuinely horrified. “We are absolutely going to have to have that looked at. Covenite wounds are quite hard to deal with.”

Jian can’t bring herself to reply. The memories are flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her. Walls slick with blood and the horrific smell of dissolving flesh. Her sisters dying around her. The red-haired archon laughing as she rips away everything Jian has and throws her into the darkness. Hands tugging away at the bits of her until there’s nothing left…

“Hey, hey!” The archon’s voice shakes her from the waking dream. His hand grips her shoulder. She jerks away from his touch, eyes wide and breathing ragged. She stares as he continues speaking, trying to process the soothing tones. “We’ll fix you right up, you hear me? You’re safe here. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. We will get you back into perfect condition in no time, I promise.”

Jian takes a ragged breath. Her eyes dart from side to side, trying to reorient herself. She’s in Commorragh. In the archon’s garden, sitting on a couch. He’s gripping her newly repaired hand with an expression of concern on his face. She inhales again and nods. “Okay. Okay.”

He leans back in the couch and tugs her forward until she lies on top of him, cheek resting against his chest. She wants to resist, to pull away, but she can’t. If she doesn’t have something to hold on to, she might shatter, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend that the man she’s with is not her lord and master, but someone who cares for her deeply.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. She can feel him begin to rub her back, up and down, up and down. “You’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here. What’s wrong?”

She can’t bring herself to respond.

“Alright. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, I’m sure.” He sighs deeply. The rise and fall of his chest matches the movement of his hands on her back and she tries to sync her breathing to the rhythm. It’s strangely comforting.

“Close your eyes,” he says in her ear. “Breathe in the scent of the flowers and herbs that surround us. You’re in a safe place, a better place. All your fears and worries are far away.”

She wants so desperately to believe him.

“Focus on the scent and nothing but the scent… Nothing exists but the beautiful smells and the sound of my voice.” The archon circles his hands on her back, skillfully avoiding the most damaged areas. His voice is almost hypnotic. “You can feel your worries and concerns slowly evaporating as you drift away… Surrounded by a garden wonderland, far detached from reality…”

The black hole in Jian’s chest is crushing her. She lies still for a long time, listening to the archon’s voice to distract her from her own heartbeat. Gradually, her breathing slows and she finds herself growing tired. He’s still holding her, still rubbing her back, and despite all the pain and fear and revulsion, she doesn’t want him to let her go. She doesn’t want to be alone.

As the exhaustion overwhelms her and she drifts off into the darkness, the last thing she hears is that velvet-smooth voice, almost quiet enough that might have imagined it. “I won’t hurt you again.”

* * * *

_Cold breeze tugs at the trees in the rooftop garden and sends clear, musical tones from the crystal wind chimes that hang in them. On a couch grown from living wood sits a silver-haired drukhari holding a girl in his arms. For hours he sits and speaks soothing words as she twitches and whimpers in her sleep until finally she lies still and he picks her up to carry her to her room. The front of his silk shirt is damp with tears._


	5. Doll

When Jian awakes, she finds herself on the bed in her room. She still wears the outfit she was in last night, but someone has wrapped her in blankets and left a glass of water on the table next to the bed. Sitting up, she takes it and sips slowly as she orients herself. The straps and metal plates of the clothing have dug into her body and she sets about trying to figure out how to get the thing off.

By the time she’s extricated herself and finished the water, the previous day has come back to her. The archon must have had someone bring her back here. They’d talked in his garden on the roof, where he’d brought her from his office after - 

After she had done her duty as his slave.

Jian’s knees are suddenly weak. She slides to the floor and sits, back against the bed and knees pulled up to her chest. She may no longer have cuffs holding her in this position, but she’s still as trapped as she was on the slavers’ ship. Her stomach cramps. Perhaps she should just kill herself now. It would be difficult; she’d have to find some way to do it that drukhari medical technology wouldn’t be able to save her. Maybe if she can find a way to slash her wrists after Lynx had left for the night, so her spirit has a full night to leave her body?

But there would be no escape in death. Without a waystone, it would only deliver her into the hands of She Who Thirsts. She buries her head in her knees. _It wasn’t that bad,_ she tells herself. There was no violence, no pain. Living here would be far preferable to death. Her master even seems to care for her on some level. He hadn’t needed to spend that long rubbing her feet, to let her eat his food or give her such a nice place to sleep. Lynx is right. She should take what she can get.

As her thoughts had summoned her, Jian hears a noise at the door and hurries to adjust her posture as the Lhamean enters. “Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning, Vixen,” Lynx replies pleasantly. “Ready for your bath?”

Jian nods and hurries over to help her get the various soaps and tonics in order. She’s grateful that Lynx seems to be mainly focused on efficiency this morning. Jian isn’t in the mood for conversation. Less than an hour later, she’s been washed and dried, dressed in another skanky outfight, made up, and perfumed. A perfect little doll ready to be played with.

Apparently satisfied with her work, Lynx leads her out the door and down one of the seemingly endless spiral staircases to an elevator. This carries them downward with what must be dizzying speed, but Jian barely feels motion. Less than half a minute later, the doors slide open and she and Lynx exit into a large foyer.

The ceiling soars dozens of meters above them and more people than she’s seen since her arrival walk through it, headed in various directions. Many are women wearing the same long robes as Lynx, cut to flatter intensely while still revealing only a small amount of bare skin. The Lhameans, Jian realizes now. The rest are a more eclectic mix- warriors in the kabal’s bone white and dull green livery, men and women in the dramatic and revealing outfits that she’s come to associate with everyday wear in Commorragh, and a pair of massive snake creatures. Jian swallows and forces herself to look away. They won’t attack her; they have no reason to. She’s no threat, nothing more than another faceless slave in the vastness of the kabal.

Despite the number of people present, the room is eerily silent as Jian and Lynx make their way towards a giant doorway at the far end. It’s not, Jian, realizes, that no one is making noise, although there is indeed little conversation, but that something about the acoustics of the space is designed to muffle sound. She finds it a bit unnerving.

They pass through the massive pair of double doors and into the outdoor space of the Ashen Rose’s pocket dimension. Jian relaxes a bit as she leaves the giant, empty room and descends a broad set of stairs into the labyrinth of gardens that surround the spire. By the time they’ve walked ten minutes, she’s picked out dozens of varieties of flowers and trees that she recognizes and an equal number that she can’t identify. She can’t imagine how much work it takes to keep all of it weeded and pruned and trimmed.

Lynx offers a few friendly comments as they walk, but to Jian’s relief, still doesn’t seem eager to keep up a conversation. After perhaps half an hour, they arrive at another building that stretches up to the dark sky and enter.

Immediately, they’re met by a pair of Lhameans. Despite differences in their coloration, features, and build, there’s something inexpressibly similar about them. Perhaps a way of carrying themselves or some mannerism. It’s present in Lynx as well, she realizes, but to a lesser degree. Without a word, one approaches Jian while the other speaks to Lynx. “In need of healing, I take it?”

Jian takes a step back as the woman begins to get uncomfortably close. Lynx replies to the other Lhamean. “Yes, this is the archon’s new concubine. He wants her restored to full health.” 

“I see. You should have called.” This doesn’t appear to bother the woman overly much. Her tone is unchanged.

The woman closer to Jian seizes her arm and inspects her burns. “How did you get these?” Before Jian can answer, she bends down to probe at the bruises on her legs, lips pursed. Jian fights the urge to bat her hands away. The beauty of the gardens had distracted her, but now she’s back to being a piece of meat.

“Poor thing,” murmurs the woman. “You’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?” She nudges Jian forward. “Come along, dear.” Lynx and the other woman are still speaking, although Jian hasn’t been paying enough attention to follow their conversation.

The group arrives in a surprisingly familiar place. It could be any healer’s examination room back on Yme-loc. Reena is probably in such a room right now, as a matter of fact. A sudden pang of loss seizes in her throat, but she allows herself to be sat on the exam table as the sister who was speaking with Lynx turns her attention in their direction.

“Now then, let’s see… malnourished for certain. A good number of bruises…” Her fingers press into the discolored spots that mottle her body. “Cracked kneecaps…” She speaks to Lynx, not Jian, giving her the uncomfortable feeling of being a child waiting for the adults to tell her if she needs an injection. “…withered muscles, and acid burns bearing the marks of covenite alchemy.”

Lynx nods. “That sounds correct.”

“I suppose you’ll want to stay with her.”

Jian looks up. There’s a bit of exasperation in the other Lhamean’s tone, some kind of tension between the two women that she can’t place.

“I will.” The slight discordance is reflected in Lynx’s reply.

The third woman, who’s been bent over the counter along the wall, approaches Jian holding a cup. “Drink this.”

She reaches out and takes it, lifting it to her mouth to sip. Nearly half of the strangely sweet, purple liquid has entered her mouth before she realizes what she’s doing. She stops and looks up nervously. “What is it?”

“Just a sleep tonic, dear one. You need your rest while we work on your body. Now, drink up.”

It’s true… there’s a heaviness in her head that she didn’t feel a few minutes ago… “What are you going to do?”

The Lhamean places her hand on top of Jian’s own and guides the cup back to her mouth. “Don’t worry, it will be fine.”

Lynx is at her side as well. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Panic is rising in her- _this is wrong, I can’t sleep, what will they do…-_ but her vision is already starting to go dim.

She sways and remembers no more.

It feels like only an instant later that her eyes snap open. She can’t move, can barely focus on the smooth gray ceiling above her, but somehow she feels calm. It takes a moment to realize what’s changed.

The pain is gone. All of it, from the deep ache in her knees to the minor stiffness still in her shoulders from holding the same position for too long, it has all disappeared. She closes her eyes, inhales, opens them. She might be strong enough to move now?

“Look who’s awake.”

Turning her head in the direction of the voice, she finds her sitting in a chair near the examination table, reading something from a dataslate. Jian raises her hand in front of her face. No trace of damage remains. Even the small scar she picked up in a sparring accident has been removed. She pushes herself up to a sitting position. Her clothes are gone and someone has wrapped her in a soft grey robe. The rest of her body seems to be in the same condition as her hand. Even the shape is different. Withered muscles have been restored and what little body fat she had to lose has been returned. It is as though nothing had ever happened. “Wow.” Even her voice sounds different, smoother and more melodic than it has before.

“I take it you’re pleased with the results?”

“I feel so… whole.” Physically, anyway. It’s harder to tell how she feels mentally.

“You certainly look great. Much happier, too.”

“If you say so.” She can’t stop looking at herself. _I knew drukhari medical technology was incredible… but not like this._

“I’ll tell the archon you liked it.”

“Thank you.” She wants to run, fly. If she can lose herself in the rush of exertion, perhaps she’ll be able to clean her mind the way she has her body. “So… what now?”

Lynx puts down the dataslate. “Well, it’s early afternoon and you are free to spend the rest of the day as you please. _But,_ ” her voice takes on a conspiratorial air. “I thought you might like to surprise the archon.”

“Surprise him?” She sounds like an idiot, echoing Lynx like she’s unable to understand basic speech.

“He’s in his throne room, going over some paperwork. I think he might like it if you were to, you know… show him how good you look now.” Lynx grins.

 _No._ She can’t do that, won’t. “Won’t he be angry that I intrude?”

“I’m sure he won’t. And if he’s busy, I’m sure there’s a comfortable place for you to wait.”

“Bu- alright.” There’s no point in arguing. She’s supposed to be cooperating, pleasing him so she can delay the inevitable a bit longer.

If Lynx notices the hesitation, she doesn’t comment. “That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s get you dressed and head over there.”

The walk back to the spire where the archon resides seems to take much less time than their earlier journey did. Lynx leads her back to the same elevator they used before, but this time they emerge in an entirely separate part of the palace, once Jian has never seen before. A pair of large double doors stands at the opposite end of a richly carpeted room dotted with various seating. Although the area doesn’t have nearly the traffic of the foyer downstairs, she can see a few Lhameans and a trio of guards.

“Good luck.” Lynx smiles encouragingly and nudges her forward.

Balling up her fists, Jian walks towards the doors. A feeling of eerie familiarity overlays and adds to her growing sense of dread. The way her heels sink into the carpet, the brush of chill air on the skin left bare by the slutty outfit.

As she reaches the doors, she stops to look back at Lynx for support. She’s already gone. Jian sighs and reaches up to knock. Maybe he won’t want to see her. Or would that be bad? But a moment later, the doors swing open and she enters.

The archon is draped lazily over the large black chair at the far end of the room, one bare foot resting on the floor and the other dangling over one of the arm rests. A pile of papers sits in his lap and another one on the floor, next to some kind of glass vessel full of green smoke. He takes a long drag from one of the tubes connected to it and looks up. A smile spreads across his face. “Hello, my dear, how are you doing?”

Jian bows deeply. “I thank you from the bottom of my soul for the treatment, my lord. I did not know it was possible to recover this quickly.” She may come to regret being prettier for him, but for the moment, the chance to live without pain seems worth it.

“My pleasure.” His eyes travel slowly up and down her body and his smile remains. “You really look quite well, I mean… wow.”

A cold feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. “Thank you.”

“Why are you here? Not that I complain, of course.”

“Lynx thought you might like to, erm, see me. See how I look now.”

“Well, I certainly don’t object.” He looks down at the stack of papers in his lap, then back to her, hunger plain in his expression. His voice, however, is gentle and friendly. “How about if you keep me company while I finish going over this file, and then after we can spar. You used to be a warrior, right? I’m sure you long to hold a blade again.”

“I would love that!” she says without thinking. Remembering herself, her position, she forces her face into a more neutral expression and bows again. “Thank you, my lord.”

To her surprise, he laughs. “You can call me Valthiel.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I asked, didn’t I?” He grins at her. “Unless you have a problem with that, of course.”

“No I don’t… Valthiel.” The name feels strange in her mouth, like a secret she shouldn’t be telling.

“Then it’s settled, Vixen dear.” He beckons her over with his hand and she approaches the throne. “Perhaps you could help me with something.”

“Alright.” She has no idea what ‘something’ might entail.

He takes her hand, playing idly with her fingers as he thumbs through the papers with his other hand. “So, I’ve been asked to participate in what I’d classify as a high-risk, high-reward realspace raid. Apparently my corsair connections will allow the force to solidify a safe route to our target, while my kabal’s expertise in poison brewing and highly skilled assassins can supplement the attackers. What do you think I should ask for in terms of compensation for my time and resources?”

His tone and posture are casual, almost indifferent, but Jian senses a test in his words. “What do you know about the people that want your assistance?”

“They’re a larger kabal known as the Kabal of the Flayed Skull. Their craftsmanship is amazing, the weapons they create have far greater range and accuracy than most and they design some of the best reaver bikes in the dark city.”

Strategy was never her gift, and it’s hard to come up with anything solid when she knows so little about this place. And what she doesn’t know isn’t really applicable to the situation. “I don’t know exactly what you need… but it seems like a valuable alliance to cultivate? I might ask for a bit less at the outset and negotiate it into a long-term relationship?”

“Interesting. Can you elaborate? And tell me what you’d ask for as payment for the job in question?”

Jian chews on her lip. What is he playing at? “I don’t know exactly what you have need of. But point out the differences in specializations between your two groups and how you compliment each other. Ask for a permanent discount on equipment and imply you might be willing to enter into a similar arrangement for your own kabal’s services in the future. Don’t commit to anything, though, just offer the chance at forming a partnership. Ask for a token payment upfront, too, so they don’t feel too much like you’re trying to trick them.”

He’s not laughing, at least. She takes a deep breath, then continues. “If they refuse, just have a long list of the tech you want. It’ll make your first offer seem more realistic, but you’ll still be satisfied if they go with that.”

The archon- Valthiel, she supposes- nods slowly. “Not bad… not bad at all.” He looks up and smiles at her. “Thank you very much, you’ve been most helpful. Please, make yourself comfortable with some wine and rest at the couch over there while I finish my work. It shouldn’t take long.”

She departs with a nod, grateful for a moment to herself before she’s called on to perform again. As she begins to walk away, though, a horrific thought strikes her. It’s almost too much to contemplate asking for fear of what he’ll say, but she _has_ to know. “If I may ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Who is the raid against?”

“An ambush on a trade route within the Imperium of Mankind. Our goal is to collect working slaves for the dark city industrial complex as well as warriors for the arena and any interesting technology we come across. Personally, I hope to find biological samples from the mutant psykers they use to make up for their inability to access the webway.”

“I see. Thank you.” Relief floods her. If she’d even inadvertently been helping plan a raid on her fellow aeldari…

Putting the idea from her mind, she turns to leave again. The archon’s hand darts out to deliver a playful slap on her ass and she starts, but holds herself from commenting as the all-too-familiar cringing, sick feeling wells up in her again. It is his right, after all.

Seating herself on the couch, she pours some of the offered wine and sips at it as she looks around. Like much of the rest of the fortress-palace, his throne room is cold and empty, with too much space and too little furniture. What is there is heavily embellished in the drukhari fashion, carved and gilded and richly embroidered. It makes a strange contrast. The archon himself remains sprawled over his throne, shifting occasionally or inhaling the green smoke from his pipe. The only sound is her own breathing.

After perhaps an hour, he unfolds himself from his position and walks over to her, stretching lazily. “Alright, work’s done. How about that spar?”

“I would love that.” She may not be a warrior anymore, but still, she feels the call of Khaine, urging her to lose herself in the death-dance of combat.

“Alright, let’s see what you got, then.” He flashes her a grin and reaches above her head to pull down a pair of curved sabers hanging on the wall. Keeping one for himself, he hands the other to her.

As soon as she takes the hilt in her hand, it feels as though a change comes over her. A missing piece of herself slots into place and golden fire fills the pieces of her being that the drukhari have chipped and beaten and fucked away from her. She smiles and swings the blade back and forth a few times to test the balance. Satisfied with the weapon, she kicks off the heeled shoes and enters a ready stance. The archon takes a few steps back and bows slightly, motioning for her to go first.

Jian sprints toward him. He’s almost certainly planning a counterattack as soon as she’s in range. She focuses her intent on avoiding it when it comes. He sidesteps easily and brings up the expected strike of his own…

… A strike that lands a firm smack on her ass with the flat of the blade. Jian feels anger stir. She might be out of practice, but he doesn’t need to patronize her! Is the whole thing just going to lead to another humiliation?

She kicks out, pivoting her momentum into a follow-up strike. He steps back, a bit of surprise showing on his face, and she grins. _Didn’t expect me to recover that fast, did you?_ If she had her armor, she’d scream with her mask, throw him off balance to give her time for another attack. Instead, she leaps forward, closing the gap between them in an instant.

Their blades meet with a clash and Jian finds herself on the ground. But she’s trained scenarios like this hundreds of times. By the time he’s finished straightening from the low kick that caught her off balance, she’s back on her feet and holding a defensive stance.

“You know,” he says with a grin. “I could get used to seeing you on your back.”

The comment fails to get a rise from her. The fire burns white hot and she waits, forcing him to take the next offensive. Silence stretches for long heartbeats as she remains on a knife-edge of alertness.

Suddenly, his relaxed demeanor explodes into motion. He’s on her in an instant, a flurry of blows raining down on her. She blocks, parries, sidesteps. Khaine’s gifts are returning, the reflexes and insight that allow her to direct her movements in the blur of motion her aspect is known for. Momentum thrown off by one of her strikes, he’s suddenly wide open. She raises the blade to swing at him, a shout of exhilaration bursting from her.

He stops. Takes two steps back, his hand going to his face in surprise. A thin line of blood wells up from his cheek where the sword grazed him.

Cold water douses the fire. Jian’s sword clatters to the ground and she drops to her knees. “Forgive me,” she says hoarsely, staring at the floor. Gods, how could she have been so stupid?

The archon begins to laugh. “For what? For taking advantage of a reckless and stupid attack that I’d never have committed to in a real fight? Nah.” He presses his sleeve to the wound. “I fucked up and got what I deserved. You’re quite the fighter, though, I’m impressed.”

Jian stares up at him, confused. “It was what I had devoted myself to…” she responds lamely.

“And now you’ve drawn first blood against an archon. I’m sure most of your peers will never be able to say the same. He reaches down for her hand and helps her to a standing position, pulling her into a hug and a kiss.

She accepts the attention, still breathing heavily from exertion and adrenaline. She doesn’t understand… what does he want from her?

Breaking the kiss, the archon grins at her again. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m not going to punish you, okay?”

“Alright. Thank you. Valthiel.”

“Perhaps we should take a seat and try some more of that wine.”

“I should attend to your cut as well.” He doesn’t _seem_ upset for the moment, but the more she shows how sorry she is, the less likely he is to change his mind later.

“Oh?” he says as he leads her back to the couch. “I didn’t know you had any medical training.”

“I don’t.” She sits down next to him. “But I know how to deal with sparring accidents.” Bruises, cuts, twisted ankles, they were all everyday occurrences when you spent your hours perfecting the art of war. She uses one of the streamers dangling from the cuff-like bracelets she’s wearing to wipe off most of the blood, then pours a bit of water on a clean corner to wash away the last smudges. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she soaks another patch and daubs it onto the wound. The alcohol content is high enough, it’ll probably work to disinfect reasonably well.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” she says as she pulls her hand away. “If you want a bandage, I can go look for one…”

The archon dismisses the suggestion with a gesture. “Your presence and soothing touch is all I need, dear.” He rests his free hand on her knee.

“I’m glad I was able to help.” Khaine’s fire is gone now and she’s back to herself. Just a pretty little doll all dressed up for a man who very much wants her, a man who can and will take her as soon as he gets bored with whatever game he’s playing. 

“You most certainly have.” His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her over until she’s straddling his lap. “You’re quite lethal with that blade of yours.” Even once she’s settled, his hands remain on her hips, making small movements that remind her constantly of their presence.

“It’s what I devote myself to. Had devoted myself to.” Not that it had done much good in the end.

“Perhaps something you would like to continue doing?” He reaches around her and retrieves a goblet of wine, taking a drink before offering it to her.

“Very much so.” Jian sips at the pale red liquid. It certainly is strong. She’ll be drunk fast if she keeps drinking it.

“Then I will make sure your outfits come equipped with a dagger or two, then, in case you ever need to defend me.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“Not particularly, but it is possible. This is Commorragh, after all. Does that please you? Or do you have another idea?”

She shakes her head. “No, I am very grateful.” She doesn’t know what having a weapon near her will actually _do_ for her, but it will make her feel less helpless, and perhaps that’s all she’s hoping for.

“Well, cheers for a step in the right direction, then.” Again, he reaches behind her, bringing their bodies into even more contact. This time, he’s brought the entire crystal decanter of wine with him when he straightens up. He tops up her glass and grins at her before starting to drink straight from the container.

Jian takes another sip obediently. “What do you wish me to do now?”

“Well,” he says, free hand drifting further down to caress her thigh, “I would love to enjoy your company for a far as you’re willing to go.”

“I am yours to command,” she responds. It’s becoming easy, automatic, even. “Would you- would you like me to give you another massage?”

“That would be lovely.” He releases his hold and twists to allow her to kneel behind him and begin to work on his shoulders. “While you do, could you please share something about yourself? Nothing that you wish to remain secret, of course, but I want to know more about you.”

Jian begins her work as she thinks. “I had a lover.” _Isha’s tits, why did she share_ that _of all things?_

But it’s too late to take it back. “I see.” The archon sighs and leans into her touch. “Tell me about her.”

“We grew up together. Her parents were friends of my father’s. She walks the Path of the Healer, and she was born to it. She has so much talent…” She trails off. The fragile semblance of being alright that she’s managed to build up today is shaking and she’s not sure how much more she can manage to say. Why did she have to bring up Reena?

“Mmm, she sounds wonderful. I see why you loved her. What was your childhood like, then? And when did the two of you realize you had feelings for each other?”

“Just before I joined the Banshees.” She can barely force the words around the lump in her throat.

“What happened? An accidental kiss, or a drunken confession, or what?”

“She asked me, and I accepted. That’s it.” Why is he doing this? Is this how he intends to torture her, forcing her to relive her happiest memories while he softens her up so that there will be nowhere left to escape, even in her mind?

“Awww! That sounds so cute.” The archon half-turns to look at her, smiling. “You’re a lucky woman.”

“I was.”

He doesn’t respond for several minutes, apart from a few little sighs of pleasure as she works her way down his back. Finally, he speaks, quietly enough that she has to pause to listen. “I hope to one day make you as happy as she did.”

By all the gods, why? What is he trying to accomplish from this? Jian bites her tongue and swallows hard as she resumes her kneading. A moment later, the archon takes one of her hands in his, pulling it forward to plant a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

She breaks off. “I truly am glad you bought me.” It might be true. She doesn’t know anymore. But it’s probably what he wants to hear.

“You deserved much better than that.” He pulls her closer, until she’s embracing him from behind, and kisses her arm. “I hope this will feel like your home before long.”

“Maybe it will.”

Without another word, her master reaches back to take her other arm, swinging her around into his lap and another passionate kiss. When he finally pulls away, he pushes a strand of hair away from her face and stares into her eyes. “How about you accompany me to my bed tonight? Not for sex, but to enjoy each other’s company and so we don’t have to spend the night alone.”

“Alright.” She’s not sure if it was a question.

He stands, still holding her in his arms. “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he whispers as he begins to carry her away. His head leans down against hers, covering her face in a curtain of his hair.

Jian’s chest seizes. Lynx’s advice from the other day has come back to her yet again, reminding her that her position here is as fragile as his interest in her. Her job is to satisfy all his needs, and it seems that he somehow desires her _permission_ to have his way with her. She could delay for longer… but that will only make it worse when she does give in. And if he gets tired of waiting, that will be worse. Yesterday morning will be nothing in comparison.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She hopes Reena will hear her. Understand.

Forgive her.

“For what?” the archon asks.

Jian closes her eyes. Breathes deeply. After a long time, she opens them again. “I know why you bought me. And that you haven’t been getting it.” Her last chance to turn back. “You can have me. If you want.”

The archon starts. “…are you sure?” He shifts her position, giving him a free hand to stroke her ear.

She stiffens at the intimacy of the contact, but it actually feels rather nice. Again, her body betrays her. “Yes.”

“Then in that case, I think you deserve a far better name than Vixen. One that you can pick out for yourself.” He kisses her neck, and she can feel his teeth nip into her skin.

“Any name?”

“Any name you want. You can think about it for a while if you need to.” Jian nods into his shoulder.

Time loses its meaning after that. At least a full day and night passes. She hits his bed at some point, and by the time she does, he’s pulled the clothing from her body and the pins from her hair. They roll over and over, twisting together in endless combinations until it seems as though her skin will split and spill the pleasure that swells her to bursting. Time and again she screams his name as he takes everything her body has to offer, bringing her to peaks and then pushing past them to new horizons of sensation. A blurry unreality covers the entire experience. It’s as if she’s been poisoned, or drugged, a haze of _wrongness_ that taints her mind and leaves her desperate for an end even as she climaxes again.

Finally, when pleasures have been exhausted and there’s only the sweaty bodies and tangled sheets, she falls into the troubled darkness of sleep.

When she wakes, she does so still in her master’s arms. His naked body presses against her, exhaling hot in her ear. Wordlessly, he strokes her breasts and runs his fingers along her collar, building the warmth in her gut that must have woken her.

Jian lies still, too exhausted to think about anything beyond the here and now. Her body aches deeply. Their fluids mix with sweat in a sticky mess that coats her thighs and dries on her chest and sticks in her hair.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” the archon whispers in her ear. “I know it must have been difficult for you.”

Her throat hurts and the voice that comes out of her mouth is rough. “And I… thank you… for waiting until I was ready.”

“You were more than worth the wait, dear,” he replies, kissing her neck. “Why don’t we spend the day in bed here together? We’ve had an intense few days.”

“Doing what?” How can he want more? All she wants is to sleep and try to forget.

“Just talking.” He rubs her stomach possessively. “Getting to know one another. Feasting on wine and fruit and red meat on the bone.” She can hear the grin in his voice.

“I would very much like some food, my lord. Thank you.”

The archon flinches. “Whatever happened to calling me Valthiel?”

“I’m sorry, Valthiel. I’m still not quite used to it.” It hadn’t seemed appropriate.

He relaxes with a sigh, returning to his caresses. A few minutes later, he speaks again, shaking Jian from her stupor. “What did you dream of for your life, before you came here?”

Tears prick at her eyes. Can’t she have her own mind, even for a moment? “All I wanted was to continue exploring the galaxy with my mother and my lover and my sisters in arms at my side.”

“You love traveling and exploration, then?”

“I do. I had given a thought to taking up the Path of the Mariner, but Khaine's call was stronger.”

“I love- or, well, I loved to travel as well, as the captain of my own fleet of corsairs. Perhaps with you at my side, I’ll do it again.” He begins to play with her hair.

“If you love it so much, why did you stop?” She’s speaking automatically, asking the obvious questions so she doesn’t have to think or feel.

“I was always torn between worlds. My place is here, with the kabal I serve and the memories I protect. But my life among the stars and the one I shared it with called me every moment I was in Commorragh.” He laughs bitterly. “We made such an odd team, but when she was gone, it just wasn’t the same.”

She processes this silently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he sighs. “Are you warm enough?”

Jian’s breath catches in her throat. “You can stop pretending now. Just tell me how and where you want me and I’ll be there.” The longer this twisted parody of a romance goes on, the more she loathes it, and herself for going along with it.

She can feel him flinch as though she’s struck him, but his voice is perfectly steady. “I know this is difficult for you to understand and even harder to respond in kind to, but I _do_ care about you for more than just your body.”

“Alright.” She doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

“Perhaps one day you’ll believe me.” He sounds calm, resigned, but she can detect the hurt in his tone underneath it all. She’s gone too far, shattered the illusion.

“Thank you for all you have done for me. It really was more than you had to.” And more than she deserved, in a way.

“Don’t thank me,” he mutters. “Apparently it was all so you’d let me fuck you.”

“Well you have now, and may do so again. But I thank you for letting me have time to prepare and- “

“And I could have done it right away, couldn’t I? I could have claimed you right there on the dinner table the first night. But I didn’t!” The charm and composure is gone from his voice, matching the rawness of her own. “Could it be that I was after your _company_ instead?”

“I don’t know, I- ”

He sits up and his voice rises in volume as he speaks, hurt and anger becoming more and more plain. “When I saw you there in your cage, I thought I could bring you here and add some laughter and a soothed heart to my long, empty nights in this miserable city. I thought I was doing something _good._ But apparently I was mistaken.” Jumping from the bed, he wraps a robe around himself as he stalks towards the door. “Fuck it all,” he mutters.

The door slams, leaving Jian alone in the dimly lit room. As the shock abates, cold fear fills her, along with a sense of shame that she can’t place. Why couldn’t she have just kept nodding along? Agreed to whatever he wanted her to do? It would have been a small price to pay for her life. All the dark fears and imagined fates of the past weeks return to her mind.

What has she done?

* * * *

_The nameless slave remains alone for hours, wearing only the silver band that marks her property of another. She sits on his bed, in his room. Eyes dry, trembling but afraid to touch even a blanket to cover her nakedness, she steels herself for the tortures to come._

_In another part of the spire, her master howls in frustration. Over and over his fist slams into the wall, trying to blot out the pain of the girl’s rejection and the truth of her accusations in white hot agony. And when it’s over and the hurt and anger have faded to a cold emptiness, he slides to the ground, cradling the mess of blood and shattered bones that used to be his arm. Tears run down his face as, like her, he resigns himself to his fate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valthiel: *Rapes his new slave girl, parades her around in skimpy outfits, takes every opportunity to put her in physical contact with him, is moody and unclear about his intentions*
> 
> Jian: "I don't think you're serious when you say you care about me as more than a fucktoy"
> 
> Valthiel: *Surprised Pikachu face*


	6. Tension

It must be hours later when something changes. A sound. Someone at the door.

Jian tenses, ready to bolt. There’s nowhere to run, she can’t hope to hide, but fear is irrational. She’s not ready to die yet.

The door slides open and Lynx steps in, a disappointed expression on her face. “Hey, dear, how about we get you dressed? It’s not like you can go back to your quarters like this.”

“My quarters?” Jian asks numbly.

“Yes, of course.” Lynx walks towards the archon’s closet. “You do know where they are, right? I’d hope so, given that you’ve spent several nights there already.”

Jian still can’t take her eyes off her. “He’s not going to sell me?”

“He gave you his word he wouldn’t, did he not? For him that actually means something.” Her tone is scolding, as though she’s talking to a particularly stubborn child. Jian wonders if she speaks this way to everyone, or if it’s just because she’s under her care.

“He’s so angry, though…” She can feel her body starting to uncoil, her crouched posture relaxing just a bit. If Lynx isn’t worried or furious, than maybe everything is okay?

“Hurt, not angry. There’s a difference. And even if he was, he would still honor his word.” Lynx reappears, carrying a dark grey bathrobe.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Jian isn’t sure why she feels guilty, but now that the initial horror has settled, it’s there. Perhaps it’s only because Lynx seems to think she’s done wrong.

“Then why did you?”

“Because I don’t understand why he’s wasting time on me when he could have you or any other girl in this place.”

Lynx rolls her eyes. “Obviously he wanted you instead. Even if you have managed to get him to doubt himself by implying he only cares about your convenient bodily openings.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give him.” she says quietly. The acute terror of the archon’s anger has faded, replaced with the dull ache that’s been there since she woke up in the hold. The feeling of being worthless.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve managed to scare away someone who thinks you’re more than that.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and places a hand on Jian’s shoulder. “And no, you’re not getting sold, don’t worry about that. You just managed to get him to question himself.”

The words are the end of Jian’s fortitude. She falls into her arms and starts to cry.

“There, there.” Lynx strokes her hair. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Why not?” She’ll have to find some way to make it up to him or be reminded of her failure here every day for the rest of her life. However long that is.

“I doubt he’ll ask for your company again unless you seek him out on your own,” Lynx replies matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

Lynx sighs. “It’s nothing against you, I just don’t think he’ll be able to look at you without starting to hate himself. But don’t worry, you’re not going to be sold and I’m not going anywhere.”

The embrace tightens and Jian closes her eyes, trying to untangle everything she feels. “I didn’t want to hurt him.” She was trying to be a good slave. A useful one. One who would be worth keeping around for a long, long time.

“Well, you did, and you cannot change that. You just have to decide how you want to move forward.”

“But you said seeing me will make it worse.”

“If he’s the one who summons you, yes. But if you go of your own free will, there is a different dynamic. You will have to decide if that’s something you want to do, though, to decide what kind of future you want and exactly why you don’t trust him.”

Jian nods into Lynx’s shoulder. “Can I go back to my room? I’ll think about it on the way, I promise.”

“Of course.” Lynx helps her into a soft bathrobe and takes her by the hand to lead her away. Jian follows, as quiet and compliant as she’s ever been.

In her room, she allows herself to be stripped and helped into a bath, replacing the smell of sex with a pleasing floral scent and relaxing the tension from her tired muscles. Next, she puts on the provided nightgown- another flimsy satin piece- and climbs into bed, where Lynx places a wide leather belt around her waist. Jian flinches as a bed of needles pricks to her skin, remembering involuntarily the glass tube and her agonized dance. But instead, a warm glow spreads over her. The aches from the archon’s rough treatment melt away and she can feel a strange lightness to her head. Maybe some kind of drug injected by the needles. It carries her away on the river of her own thoughts and through the colorful clouds of her mind.

How long she lays there and drowses, she’s unsure, but when she finally opens her eyes, Lynx is still sitting in a chair next to her bed, eyes closed, but lacking some of the stillness of real sleep. She stirs and looks over as soon as Jian moves. “Is everything alright?”

“I wanted him to hurt me.”

“Why?”

“Because the longer I waited for it, the worse it would be. I just wanted him to get it over with,” she’s whispers. Admitting that she has less than complete affection for the lord, even if it’s only to Lynx, feels like a dangerous game.

“Sweetie, the chances that you’d be able to push him far enough that he’d want to bring you pain while we’re in Commorragh are astronomically low.”

“Why?” Jian pushes herself up on her elbow and adjusts her position. The needles bite into her skin again, but it’s not the worst sensation with all the pleasantness accompanying it.

She sighs. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s an incredibly powerful and sensitive empath, _in Commorragh_. Do you really believe he’s in the mood to cause additional pain to the people in his vicinity, or do you think he’d try to drown out the residual hurt any way he could?” She says this like it’s obvious and Jian is very stupid for not figuring it out.

Jian can only stare back, confused. What is Lynx talking about? How was she supposed to have known that?

Lynx bites her lip. “But you didn’t hear this from me. Seriously, you didn’t.”

“Not a word.”

“But no, he doesn’t plan to put you through some horrible torture to get his kicks.”

It’s as though she’s been stuck in a highly pressurized chamber since the moment the collar locked around her neck and Lynx’s words have broken a hole to let the air rush out. “Really?”

“I promise. Was there something else on your mind?”

Jian doesn’t respond, staring at the dark grey folds of the curtains keeping the light out of the room. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe it’s all some elaborate lie to make her fear all the greater when he turns on her. But surely this was far too much work to go to? Surely there would have been far better ways to terrorize her? A strange thought fills her mind.

_What if he’s telling the truth about what he wants?_

She’s never going home. She’s known that since the moment she saw the city. Really, since the moment her mother had warned of raiders approaching. She belongs to the archon now, as she’d been trying _so_ hard to remember during their interactions. If she doesn’t serve him in his bedroom, what is the alternative? He promised not to sell her, but she’ll have to work somehow. No one would a slave that can’t do anything. There are likely a great deal of worse positions in the kabal he could send her to. Even when he eventually grows bored of her, if she has connections with others in the kabal, she might be able to find a softer place to land.

“Maybe I should try again.”

“If that’s what you want?” Lynx sounds excited, hopeful.

“I think it could be.” Eventually, she will get used to his attentions, she supposes. Some small, traitorous part of her wonders if the might even become pleasant after long enough.

“Excellent.” As if she’s reading her mind, Lynx reaches out to place a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You deserve the chance to be happy again, Vixen. Do you want to go right away? Or do you want me to stay here and keep you company and you can try again in the morning?”

“Do you think he’d see me now?”

“Of course. Here, let’s find you something to wear.”

They work quickly to comb Jian’s hair, give her a light touch of makeup, and get her dressed in a robe. It’s really the most comfortable and _decent_ thing she’s been allowed to have since before her capture. Although it still leaves a huge amount of her chest exposed and comes with yet another pair of high, spiked heels, it feels like a slightly saucier version of something she could have worn at home.

The work proceeds quickly. Jian is afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she delays too long, and Lynx seems eager to smooth things over between her and the archon. They finish the job and Jian follows Lynx out the door, back straight and hands clenched in the folds of her robe.

Unsurprisingly, they don’t return to the archon’s suite. Instead, they walk down several staircases and along endless hallways to an elevator she doesn’t recognize, which lets out in the gardens that surround the spire. Jian pauses. “Thank you for all the help, Lynx. Without you, I would have gone insane here, I’m sure.”

“Don’t worry dear.” She smiles. “The archon is just over that hill, through the gate. It should be unlocked, just go in.”

She follows the directions and, indeed, finds herself at a small wrought-metal gate. It opens at her touch and she follows the path into a small grove. It’s beautiful. Surrounded by trees, with thick, plush grass covering the ground and a sweet scent wafting through the air from more than a dozen beds of golden and white roses. She’s painfully reminded of home.

The archon sits on a stone bench near the center. He doesn’t look up at Jian’s approach, so she waits to be acknowledged, heart pounding. He wears the colorless outfit that seems to be the norm for him, a loose white shirt with fitted black pants and high, armored boots. A coat is slung over one shoulder and he stares sadly at the flowers. They seem to entirely consume his attention.

After nearly fifteen minutes of silence, he speaks without looking up. “Are you just going to stay there all night, or do you want to come join me?” He sounds listless, as though he’s too tired even to put emotion in his voice.

Jian braces herself, then begins to walk towards him. “I came to beg your forgiveness.”

He shrugs and a flash of something - pain? Annoyance? – crosses his face. “You have nothing to apologize for, Vixen. You only spoke your mind. And the truth.”

“But I should not have said it. I let my fears convince me you were lying, despite the lack of evidence.” Is what she’s saying true? Does she believe it? She doesn’t know anymore. All she knows is that this is what needs to be said to keep a hold on this relationship that’s the only thing standing between her and centuries of torment. 

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. And I know that my treatment of you may not have been the best. But it is something I am prepared to work on.” He looks up and finally meets her eyes. “I’m willing to do what it takes to earn your trust.”

She bows her head. “And I’m willing to let you try.”

“Just talk to me. And don’t invite me to sleep with you and then turn around and accuse me for sleeping with you, okay?”

“I can do that.” It wasn’t what she’d been trying to do, but it wasn’t worth arguing over. At least he doesn’t seem upset anymore. She should make some gesture to show that she’s willing to act on her words. She closes the gap between the two of them and sits on the bench at his side. Silence stretches for a few moments. “What would you like to talk about?”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I want to get to know you, but you don’t seem to want to talk about your old life, your interests, your thoughts…”

“I’m sorry,” Jian replies. Perhaps it _has_ been frustrating for him. “My old life, the memories, they just bring me pain. We could talk about hobbies, though?”

“Sure. By all means…” He trails off, leaving them in silence. His right arm, Jian notices, is hanging in a sling and the hand is completely covered in heavy bandages.

She frowns, then says experimentally “I told you I liked to sing… Do you sing at all?”

“Not really.” He wraps his free arm around her, and to her surprise, the gesture is a completely non-sexual one. His hand remains still and light on her waist and he doesn’t even attempt to explore her body or feel through the robe. “I am very fond of drawing, though. My time for it has been extremely scarce since I ascended to the head of this kabal, but I still enjoy it when I get the chance.”

“What kinds of things do you like to draw?”

“Anything, really, but I have a special fondness for flowers, and technical drawings of starships.”

“You seem rather fond of plants.”

For the first time that evening, she gets a real grin from him. “I do. Plants and reptiles both, they’re one of my passions in life.” His voice matches his expression. “The fact that they both tend to have interesting chemical interactions with other beings is just a bonus.”

“You mean like in the alchemy you do here?”

“Among other things, yes.” He sighs as he looks back at the flowers, good mood apparently gone. “But more importantly I love the way they smell and move in the wind, even an artificial one like this. It’s almost like they’re dancing with an invisible partner.”

“Flowers are pretty. But I’m not very good with them. Everything I tried to grow died.” _Not for lack of trying on Father’s part,_ she thinks with a bittersweet smile.

He moves his hand to her back and starts slowly rubbing it. “What about animals, then?”

“A bit better, I think. I’ve never had one die in my care. But it’s certainly not a gift of mine.”

“And not a significant interest, either?”

“I mean, I like cute, fuzzy things as much as the next aeldari. But I wouldn’t say so, no.”

“So my plan of seducing you in a gyrinx costume is doomed to failure?” he teases.

She grins through her snort of ridicule. “Please don’t.”

The conversation lulls for a moment before she speaks again. “Maybe you could tell me about some of your plants sometime?” This whole thing feels strangely normal. For just a moment, she could forget where she was. Who she was talking to. Even if it has all come back now.

“Of course! What would you like to know?”

“Um. I guess which ones are your favorites? And what they do?”

“Hmm…” After considering for a moment, the archon takes her by the hand and leads her out of the grove, into the endless rows of garden beds and hedges. Jian is soon lost among the twisting pathways, but he seems to know exactly where he’s going.

When they stop, it’s in a patch of what looks like some relative of a voidthistle, but with denser, darker leaves and a purplish tinge to the stems. He produces a tiny silver knife and guides her hands with his own as she cuts the leaves from their stems. She doesn’t need the help- she’s perfectly familiar with cutting all sorts of things, including garden plants- but lets him instruct her anyway. Carrying the results in his cupped hands, he leads her back to the rose garden, where she finds a bowl of glowing coals sitting on the edge of the terrace, a teapot resting in its center and a tray with a pair of black stone cups next to it.

Motioning for her to sit next to him on the grass, the archon bends over the pot for a moment before joining her and instructing her on how best to crush the leaves for maximum flavor. When they finish, he declares the water ready and pours it into the cup before using a mesh spoon to strain the leaves. Jian watches intently, grateful for something to do or look at outside of herself and her own situation. This, too, isn’t new information, tea has been a passion of hers for decades, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment by pointing this out.

She raises the cup to her lips to drink, but the archon’s hand on her arm arrests the movement. “No, wait! Hand that to me.”

Curious, she passes it to him. He pulls yet another pair of small cylinders from his pocket. The first contains a pile of parchment-like strips, one of which he dips into her tea, while the other is full of swabs that he uses to wipe the rim of the cup before tapping it on the unused end of the strip. He scrutinizes it for a moment before returning the drink to her. “There you are.”

Jian raises an eyebrow as he puts away the items. “Testing for poisons?”

“Yes. I check every bit of food and drink that I consume, and I’ve tested everything you’ve had since you’ve been here as well.”

“Do you think someone might try to poison me?”

“More likely that they would be targeting me, but you never know. This is Commorragh, after all. If there’s ever something you’re unsure of, ask me or Lynx about it. I trust her with my life, and with yours too.”

She lets the comment stand as she takes an experimental sip of the tea. It’s delicious. The leaves have a delicate, almost honey-like flavor and they’ve steeped the perfect amount, even if it’s nearly scalding hot. As she drinks, she feels some slight relaxation spreading through her, a minor release of the tension that’s filled her for as long as she can remember now. She never thought she’d get a cup of tea again.

The archon watches her expressions as he slowly drinks his own beverage. “It’s not a drug, you can drink as much as you like without worrying about side effects, although repeat doses aren’t any more calming than one. I know many craftworlds have their own traditional teas just as we do here. I’ll have someone show you where anything you need is growing, and you should feel absolutely free to take as much as you like.”

“Thank you.” She continues drinking, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she does. He seems mostly focused on the cup in his hands, but will occasionally steal a glance of his own in her direction. This was not, she suspects, his true favorite plant, but an opportunity to share the experience and the tea with her. It’s curious, and hints perhaps at a sincere desire to follow through on his words. Like his foot massages and his nice food, there was no need.

When she looks up again, he’s staring at her and his eyes have taken on a strange, glassy quality. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all, quite the contrary,” he says quietly.

What does she say to that? “Well, I’m glad I could make you happy.” There’s something else that needs to be said, while she’s here. “I meant it, you know. When I said I was sorry about what happened to your friend.”

“Thank you.” He lets out his breath slowly. “And I am sorry for how much your life must have changed since you came here. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you.”

 _Hasn’t been easy…_ And in that moment, the beginnings of calmness and peace that have started to make their way into her heart are gone and she can feel her face collapsing. An instant later, the archon has his arm wrapped around her, pulling her to him. Yet again, she notices the difference from the many, many hours she’s spent in his embrace before. The hunger is still there, yes. He still desires her, she’s certain. But there is also a protective element that keeps his arm around her shoulders and his lips away from her flesh.

The bandaged hand is pressed between them, and through her grief and confusion, she notices that something feels odd about it. Too soft, perhaps. “Is your hand alright?” Her voice comes out muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s fine.” The archon buries his face in her hair, where he remains still, his breathing ragged but steady.

How long they stay like that, Jian has no idea. Much longer than she thought she would want to, for certain. And when she pulls away, he puts up no resistance. “Thank you for giving me a second chance,” he says.

Jian looks down. She’s not sure how to respond.

“What do you want to do now? Would you like to take a walk with me through the garden? Or to be alone for a while?”

“I think… I think I’m tired. I would like to go to bed. If you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s just fine.” He holds out a hand to help her up. “It is rather late.”

She should say something, something to help him know she’s serious. “Perhaps I could see you again tomorrow? We could have a meal together?”

“Then I will see you for dinner tomorrow night, sweet Vixen.”

The trip back to her room is uneventful and the archon leaves her to enter on her own with a chaste kiss on the lips. As soon as she enters, she finds Lynx waiting for her on the bed.

“Well? How did it go?”

“Good, I think?”

Lynx nods eagerly. “Go on.”

“I apologized for my behavior. We walked in the garden and he made me tea. We’re eating dinner together tomorrow night.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a bad evening to me.” She moves to help Jian out of her robes and into bed. “After all, how could it have been much better under the circumstances?”

“You’re right. Thank you for all your help.” She’s growing more exhausted by the second, the aches in her back and stomach and hips are starting to return, and the emotions of the day are too overwhelming to do much more than agree automatically with everything said.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I promise. Should I wake you up with breakfast tomorrow?”

“Okay.” She should do something to show she means it here, too. “And if you ever need help with your things as well, just ask me.”

“Interested in joining the sisterhood, are you?” Lynx teases as Jian takes her place in the bed.

“I don’t know. But I want to make your life easier. Like you’re making mine.”

“Do you enjoy games? I would love someone to play athlanan with and Vathiel prefers cards. I play chess as well, if you’d prefer?”

“I love chess.” She manages a small smile. Another chance to engage her mind with something that has nothing to do with her own body or situation. The gifts keep coming this evening.

“It’s settled then. I’ll see you the evening after next.” She pulls the blankets over Jian and gets ready to depart. “Good night dear, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She turns out the light, leaving Jian in darkness.

* * * *

_The perpetual twilight of Commorragh remains unchanged through the long hours of artificial night. The archon’s concubine lies awake for hours, alone in the huge, plush bed. When her thoughts become too much to bear, she climbs from the bed and settles on the window seat, staring out at the garden from a cocoon of blankets. There she stays until her handler returns, whispering to herself and running her fingers along the smooth silver of the chains she has begun to accept._


	7. Relaxation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Ashilaa_A03 for being an awesome (and understanding) beta. The story always makes sense in my mind, but I need other eyes to tell me if it *actually* makes sense. 
> 
> Also, I'll be going back through earlier chapters over the next few days and adding in a few edits. Nothing major, just typo fixes and fleshing out Jian's psyche a bit more, but if something seems different while you're backreading, you are not insane.
> 
> EDIT 2/11/21
> 
> Once again, an update is indeed coming soon. The next chapter is a doozy (over 10k words) and both I and Ashilaa needed a bit more time with it than normal. Hopefully it will be worth it!

Jian stands in front of the door to the archon’s chambers, composing herself before she knocks.

The day has been a strange one. Lynx had found her on the window seat in the morning and offered her another cup of tea, seeming somewhat annoyed that Jian hadn’t thought to tell her how much she loved it before.

After breakfast she had been left to her own devices, so she had inspected every inch of her quarters before curling up on the chair with one of the books supplied by whoever had furnished the place. She’d had to put it down less than a chapter in. Reena had always loved those awful romance novels that the Harlequins put out as some kind of surreal joke, and reading them reminded her too sharply of how much she missed her.

Her next attempt had proved more fruitful. The second book she’d picked up had been a translation of an epic poem from before the old aeldari empire fell, and it had taken all her concentration just to follow the archaic language. Jian had never been much of a reader, but for once she appreciated having something to do.

Eventually, she had filled enough of the day that she had been able to start getting herself ready for her “date” with the archon. This, too, had been a welcome diversion: putting her hair and makeup in place and picking an outfit for herself for the first time since her capture.

She’d waited for someone to come fetch her for a bit before realizing she was meant to go on her own and setting out. Which left her here. Standing outside his door. Dressed in the most conservative thing she could find in the closet, a scarlet dress that still left her back and much of her chest and legs exposed. Readying herself for whatever he had planned for her this evening.

She raises her hand and knocks.

“Come in, it’s open,” the archon says from inside.

Jian obeys his order, stepping inside to find the room softly lit with dozens of candles. The bistro table from her previous visits has been replaced with a somewhat larger one, loaded down with food. Jian can pick out loaves of bread, cheese, exotic seafood, bottles of wine and liquor, and a large steaming bowl whose contents she can’t identify. As the door slides shut behind her, the archon himself stands from his chair, gesturing toward her in greeting. He, too, looks somewhat different, with his hair tied back and green and gold coat topping his usual leather pants and white blouse.

His face brightens as she approaches him. “You look great.”

“So do you.” Jian can almost believe he was a corsair once, seeing him like that. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright.” He leads her to the table and pulls out one of the chairs for her to sit. “Did you forget the time?”

“No, I was, erm, waiting for someone to come get me. Then I realized that I was just supposed to go, but it was later than I should have left.” She cuts off her stream of excuses. _He’s not going to torture you to get his kicks._ Lynx’s words are comforting, calming.

“Oh… Isha’s tits, that was my fault. I see why you were confused.”

Jian takes the offered seat. “It’s no trouble, I managed to find my way here. Don’t worry about it.”

The archon moves to the other end of the table to sit in his own chair. “Alright. Shall we feast?”

“It looks delicious.” And it does. Most of the meals she’s been served since her arrival have been on the light side, and while she’s never gone hungry, the thought of eating something richer sounds amazing.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m not much of a cook.”

“You made all of this yourself?” The image of the archon bent over a counter, peeling vegetables, is somewhat absurd.

“I did,” he replies. “It took me most of the day, but I think I managed to create an edible meal.” He ladles something from the large bowl into a smaller one and passes it to her. Some kind of shellfish soup, Jian judges by the smell.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as she pours herself a glass of wine.

“I know. But I wanted to. I hoped it would lift your spirits a bit.”

“Well, you did beautiful work.”

“How does it taste?”

“Just fine.” The soup is quite salty, and she sips on the wine to counteract it. Not as good as most of the things she’s had since she arrived, but not bad at all.

“I’m glad. The last thing I want to do is accidentally poison you.”

“I suppose that’s more likely here than many other places.” The banter is automatic. Almost effortless. If she can block out all the parts of her mind that keep reminding her of how truly _fucked up_ this situation is, she can slide into a fantasy world where this is exactly the date that it appears to be.

“Oh yes. Luckily, you’re also in one of the best places to get the appropriate antidote in time, so I suppose it evens out in the end.”

“I guess I’ll have to hope I get poisoned here, then.”

“Well, no one knows what the future holds in store.” The archon serves himself from one of the entrees on the table, taking a few bites in silence before looking up at her, suddenly serious. “Why did you come back?”

“I don’t like leaving things unsaid.” It’s part of the truth, anyway.

Something the archon clearly picks up on. “What do you mean?”

“If I was going to apologize, I needed to do it right away and not risk something happening that would keep it from ever being said.” There were so many things she’d meant to tell her mother… to tell her father… Reena…

“But what made you think you had something to apologize for?”

Jian looks up and studies him before speaking. She can’t figure out his tone. “I saw how badly I had hurt you. And I began to wonder if there was some truth in what you had been saying to me all along.”

He speaks again after several bits, but his emotions are no clearer. “I meant what I said. I would love to have you in my chambers and my bed at night, even without the sex. Just your company is enough.”

“I’m not sure… maybe?” What is she supposed to think of his request?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready for that. But maybe someday?” Jian isn’t sure if that would be better or worse than simply fucking her and letting her leave. It feels more intimate somehow.

The archon is obviously disappointed and his voice carries just the edge of a sigh. “Let’s hope for the best then.”

“I certainly do.” Jian makes a mental note to get herself used to the idea as fast as possible.

“I’m glad you’re here now, at least, sharing the evening with me.” He raises his wine as if to toast. She responds in kind, unsure what exactly she’s toasting.

After draining the glass, he returns his gaze to her. “So, I doubt you’re interested in spending your days locked away in your room. Is there anything you’d like to do to keep yourself busy while you’re here?”

Jian considers. There’s only one thing that’s made her feel alive since she’s been here. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if I might be allowed to keep up my sword training while I’m here, I would very much like that.”

“Interesting.” He rests his chin on his hand. “Would you prefer to train with me, or with my bodyguard and his elite unit of cadets?”

“I don’t care, as long as I can hold a blade in my hand.”

“How about a combination, then? You can take part in their daily exercises, and then spar with me when I have the time.”

“That sounds like it could work.” In the midst of the polite small talk, she finds a question that actually interests her. “May I ask what you do? On a normal day, I mean.”

The archon eyes her curiously and Jian wonders if she’s asked something inappropriate. But after a moment he sighs and gives his head a brief shake before starting to speak. “Nothing particularly interesting, I’m afraid. I start each day working on private projects in my personal laboratory, and I also schedule daily survival training to keep myself on my toes against the dangers of the dark city. Exercising or weapons training, depending on the day. The rest of my day is taken up with reports from my officers and the elder lhamean sisters, management of the kabal’s long-term projects, inspecting the health of our working slave population, and occasionally meetings with representatives from other groups within the city. After dinner, I spend time updating myself on the long-distance communications from my spy network and agents throughout the city and the galaxy at large and sometimes tutoring Lynx, before completing my personal health checks to ensure I have not picked up any residual toxins or diseases before I go to bed.”

“It sounds very… busy.” And perhaps all the more surprising that he’s taken so much time out of his schedule to play with her. Amusing, in a somewhat strange way, to think of herself as ruining an archon’s vacation.

“I won’t lie, it gets intense sometimes. But moments like this make it all worth it.”

Jian bites her lip and looks down at her soup, unsure how to respond. After another bite, she clears her throat. “This is very good.”

She looks up to see him smiling awkwardly, cheeks and ears flushed red. “Thank you, I- I wasn’t sure that you would like it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

His blush deepens. “I mean, I know I’m not really a chef…”

“Neither am I. It’s still better than ship food, I promise.” Yet again, the conversation seems unreal. Almost normal. She finds herself blushing too.

“Well, thank you.” The archon clears his throat. “So, what is your favorite food?”

“I like spicy food - there’s a five-spiced meat that they serve on Yme-loc that makes your mouth burn in different ways over time after you’ve eaten it and I love it.”

“Oh, you should have told me, I could have made you something spicy tonight! There’s a version of the soup you’re eating that will make you feel like you’re swallowing fire.” He sounds surprised by the revelation. “I like spicy food too.”

“We’ll have to have it for dinner sometime.” He’s probably going to expect her to come up with suggestions for how to spend their time together sooner or later; it seems like part of the relationship he wants her to give him. Might as well start now.

“It’s a date,” he grins.

They both fall quiet and Jian’s plate is almost empty before the archon breaks the silence. “Unless you mind, I thought we could retreat to the couch for some entertainment before we enjoy dessert? I have a recording of an opera that I thought you might like.”

“Alright.” Suddenly, she feels less confident. What would the subject matter even be for an opera here in Commorragh of all places?

The archon takes her hand and leads her to the couch, where she takes a seat as indicated. A bowl of fresh fruit sits on the table nearby, next to a smaller bowl of melted chocolate. After fiddling with the recording, the archon sits next to her, pulling her into his arms as he brings the bowls into their laps.

Despite Jian’s fear, the opera is familiar subject matter, a treatment of Eldranesh’s battles against Khaine. She’s seen the story depicted in numerous forms before, and this one is quite enjoyable. The archon maintains his embrace throughout, although he seems content to stroke her back and run his fingers through her hair. She allows him to feed her fruit and, to her utter shock, finds herself rather enjoying the evening. The food is delicious and the entertainment reasonably diverting. She’s almost having fun. Almost.

* * * *

She drags her eyes open. They feel crusty and her body is stiff from being contorted into a strange position while she slept. Blinking in the sudden light, dim as it may be, Jian tries to figure out where she is.

A table in front of her, her face pressed into something soft, a heaviness over her middle. The archon’s arm. She must have fallen asleep on him last night. He’s sleeping as well, halfway under her, leaning on his side against the arm of the couch. Strangely, she feels incredibly rested despite the unusual location. Not even a nightmare that she can remember. Perhaps even stranger, her clothing all seems to be in place. She has been left completely unmolested in her vulnerable state. The archon hasn’t woken yet, so Jian remains where she is, content in a place with no expectations or demands on her.

But all too soon, reality settles in. She’s here, in the arms of the man who owns her entire being. How can she be alright with this? How can she even think about accepting the situation? She should be kicking, screaming. Stabbing the archon in the chest with a steak knife. Not snuggling up to him the moment her mother’s screams stop echoing in her brain. It feels like she’s going to be sick.

He stirs under her and she can feel his hand caressing her back. Why does it have to feel so nice?

Sweat breaks out on Jian’s forehead as she tries to focus on… what exactly? What does she even want from her life anymore? The archon tugs at her, still clearly asleep as he pulls her back into his arms. Eyes closed, harmless like this, expression peaceful, he’s rather handsome. The fact that she can’t help but notice is another kick in the stomach.

“Mmm… I love you…” he mumbles, pressing her even closer.

 _Oh gods, no._ Jian finds herself moving numbly into the affection. He whimpers softly and nuzzles against her cheek as her eyes fill with tears. She’d thought she’d been prepared for whatever he would do or say on this ‘date’, whatever acts he would perform or get her to perform, but this… she had never considered it.

_Does he even know what love is?_

She gets no answer to her question, however. She simply lies in his arms and stares at the wall as he continues sleeping, a blissful expression on his face.

After what feels like hours, shame and confusion filling her to near bursting, Jian feels him stir behind her. “Good morning, dear,” he murmurs in her ear, kissing the back of her neck.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yes. With you at my side, I had my best night in ages. Thank you.”

Jian’s confusion deepens. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could be of service.”

“You most certainly were,” the archon replies.

“What would you like me to do now?”

“Just… stay here. Share this moment with me.” He twists, maneuvering their bodies so she winds up facing him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The weight around Jian’s neck reminds her of the cold truth of her words as she says them.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He kisses her again, lingering in the contact and Jian leans in to meet it. A daydream of happiness… The kiss continues, pauses, resumes. The archon runs his hands along her ears and down her jaw. His lips move to her neck and the bare skin on her chest, and she responds, twining her fingers in his hair and letting her legs wrap around him.

Finally, after what must be close to an hour, Jian pulls herself away. He might not be satisfied yet, but the tension in her gut has built to the point that she can’t ignore it any longer. Before they go further, she needs to stop and clear her head. “I should go freshen up,” she says softly.

“Of course. Take your time, we have nowhere else to be today.”

She disentangles herself from his arms and hurries to the bathroom, trying to straighten her dress as she does. At the washroom door, she hesitates and looks back. She shouldn’t assume that she is allowed to use his amenities. The archon is watching her from the couch and smiles encouragingly. So Jian enters, shutting the door behind her. All alone in the pristine, white emptiness of the enormous space.

Immediately, she rushes for the sink. It’s too late. Her massive, rich dinner from last night comes racing back, splattering across the counter and backsplash. Eventually, her stomach empties and she finds herself braced against the marble vanity, face pale and tear-streaked, arms shaking. Her stomach has quieted but she feels no better.

Running the water to disguise any additional sounds she might make, she takes one shuddering breath, then another. This is survival, nothing more. Lynx is right, she can’t live the rest of her days being miserable. If she manages to not hate what her life has become for a few hours, surely no one would blame her?

Regardless, she needs to get this cleaned up before he sees it. She washes the chunky mess down the sink and wipes the splashes from the tiles and her face. Her dress looks alright, the smudged makeup has been removed, and her hair is straightened easily enough with her fingers. Once again, she is acceptable.

As she returns to the main bedroom, she finds that the archon has moved from the couch to the massive bed that sits in the bedroom portion of his suite. His eyes follow her stride as she comes in and she can feel him taking in every detail of her appearance. Jian positions herself by the edge of the bed and waits for him to speak.

“You don’t want to join me, do you?” He sighs.

“I don’t mind.” This sounds… almost like the truth? She’s certainly not sure what she’d rather do.

“Well then please, come sit with me.” He slides over to make room and she climbs onto the silk covers next to him.

“Will everything be alright? If you take the day off?” she asks. Based on his description last night, a lot of things currently demand his attention.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She can feel his gaze on her again and looks up to meet his eyes. “Okay. I had fun last night.”

“So did I. We should make it a regular habit.”

A regular habit? He wants to do this again? And he certainly won’t be satisfied with just a bit of cuddling next time. “Not tonight, though. I promised Lynx I would spend the evening with her.” Belatedly, Jian realizes she should have asked his permission before making such a commitment. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Of course. I’m glad you’re starting to make friends here and plan things on your own. Please, have fun for me. And the two of you are welcome to join me here when you’re done.”

“I’ll see what she thinks.” Her hopes for an evening to relax even slightly dashed, she falls silent as the archon kisses her forehead. “So… what did you want to do today?”

“Just spend the day with you, in whatever capacity you feel comfortable spending it with me.”

He’s letting her choose? The idea seems ludicrous and Jian has no idea what she feels ‘comfortable’ doing with him. But to deny him flat out would almost certainly trigger another outburst, one she might not be able to smooth over. “We could take a walk?”

“I like the sound of that.” The archon smiles, but not fast enough to hide the disappointment that flickers across his face.

“What would you rather do?”

Seconds pass before he replies softly. “How about you take off that dress and come join me under the covers… and then when we’re done we can take our walk in the garden?”

Jian’s heart seizes. She knew this was coming. There was no way she could have expected such a pleasant evening without paying for it somehow. But still, she doesn’t want him inside her again, claiming every part of her for his own. “Alright.” She begins to slide out of the flimsy red dress.

The archon catches her hand. “Are you sure?”

Her cheeks flame. “Not really. Just- be gentle? Please?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s go for a walk.”

 _Shit._ “No, I can-“

“Don’t worry about it. A walk sounds great.”

“Alright.” She bites her lip, realizing she needs to ask for yet another concession. “May I return to my room to change into something warmer?”

“There’s no need,” the archon says as he stands. “I’m sure there’s something in my female clothing closet that will fit you. Take your pick.”

Following his gesture, Jian enters a small room hung with women’s clothing of every style she can imagine. Automatically, she reaches for a set of armor that looks very much like wraithbone, but forces herself to pick something more realistic for the situation. An embroidered tunic and matching leggings, somewhat scratchy but otherwise comfortable, present themselves and she changes quickly, folding her dress on a chair before she leaves. She tries not to think about his reasons for having a closet full of women's clothing.

The archon has also changed when she emerges, redressed in a soft grey shirt and fresh pants, and he’s put on boots. He offers her his arm and leads her out of the room.

They use an elevator she’s not familiar with, but Jian quickly realizes it takes them to the bottom of the spire and out into another segment of the gardens. For a long time, the only sound is their feet crunching on the gravel path.

Jian breaks the silence first. “Thank you for indulging me. I promise I will join you in bed the next time.”

He pulls her closer, moving his hand to rest on the small of her back. “Don’t worry about it, dear, it’s what you needed.”

Her eyes burn and she’s not sure exactly why. “Thank you for buying me.”

“It was nothing. I just cannot believe my luck that I found you when I did.”

“The luck was all mine, I assure you.” In the moment, she’s speaking both truth and lies, feeling a strange kinship with him even as she remembers the sick, empty feeling of lying at his side, too exhausted and used up to move.

The archon doesn’t seem to notice any of her mixed feelings though, turning to face her directly and running his hand along her jawline. “I know we are still in Commorragh, but I don’t want you to feel unsafe at all, do you hear me? If there is anything or anyone that makes you afraid, just tell me and I’ll take care of it.” Not giving her time to respond, he presses her to his chest, bending to encircle as much of her in his embrace as possible.

Jian holds still, afraid to move. Unsure if she wants to.

“Thank you for giving me a chance, Vixen” he whispers. His lips brush the top of her head.

They stand like that for long minutes as Jian feels the wind tug at her clothes and hears the thin, bone-white trees that surround the path rustling their leaves together. “Jian. My name was Jian.”

He starts. “That’s a very pretty name. Do you mind if I call you that instead of Vixen?”

Jian shakes her head. She’s not sure why she admitted it. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to be Vixen, the helpless doll with no future. And now that she’s passed through that doorway, she’s even less sure if it was the right decision. But now that she is here, there’s no more use pretending: she is indeed Jian, the same girl who walked the path of a warrior, the one who was beaten and held in the ship and forced to dance until she was nothing. The same girl who has a father and a lover waiting for someone they’ll never see. “That would be acceptable,” she breathes.

“My real surname is Levrain, not Aire.”

She looks up at the archon, confused.

“I wanted to separate myself from the corsair life I once led, and to leave the door open to rejoining it should the need arise. I just thought you should know.”

Jian nods. “You don’t want me to call you that, then?”

“It is private, yes. My Lord or Master will do in public, and Valthiel when we are alone, or Val if you prefer something a bit more intimate.” He releases her from his grasp and resumes guiding her along the garden path. “Is there anything else you would like to know about me?”

A chance to learn more about the man who will possess her for the foreseeable future seems too rare to pass up. “You said you never knew your parents. So how did you know to come here, that there was a throne waiting for you? If I may ask.”

“Of course. I originally came as an ordinary corsair, and while doing business in the city, I encountered one of the elder sisters of the kabal. They had apparently been looking for the heir to the throne for a while.”

Jian looks up at his expression. She’s impressed with his ability to tell such a story with a straight face. Although she supposes it has little effect on whether it’s true or not. His position would be difficult to maintain without the ability to lie seamlessly. “They let a mon’keigh travel here?”

He smiles indulgently. “No, by then I had worked my way up from my humble beginnings and commanded a crew of our own people.”

“Oh, yes. You had mentioned that before. I’m sorry.” She’d forgotten in her analysis. When no reprimand is forthcoming, she tries another question. “Have you ever been to a craftworld?”

“Hard as that may be to believe, I have, several times in fact.”

“Which ones?” It’s unlikely he’s ever seen Yme-loc, but still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“Saim-hann once, Ulthwe twice, and Kel’terath countless times. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if we had traveled to any of the same places. I haven’t though.”

The archon looks at her sidelong. “Would you like to?”

“I don’t know. I certainly dreamed of it once…” With a pang, she wonders what would have happened if she had followed her impulse to join the Path of the Mariner. She would be at home with her father and Reena, and perhaps with her fate in some other aeldari’s hands, her mother might not have-

“Which one would you like to see first? Ulthwe or Saim-hann?”

“Either, I - “ Jian cuts herself off, realizing who she’s speaking to. She cannot, will not become a participant in the doom of yet more of her people. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We will see where fate takes us, then.” He leans in to kiss her. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jian kisses back.

The rest of the afternoon is unremarkable. The pair wander through the gardens, which are more extensive than Jian realized even on her trip to the other spire. She admires the beauty and diversity of the species represented and the archon explains the uses of some of them at length, but the conversation topics remain light. She’s grateful for this- nothing will make this new acceptance of her fate worse than being forced to keep talking about it.

Eventually, she excuses herself to keep her meeting with Lynx and he escorts her back to her room, leaving her at the door.

As she enters, she finds the other woman sprawled across her bed, reading a book. “Hello?” she asks cautiously.

Lynx looks up with a smile. “Hello there. You took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” The other woman waves dismissively. “Did you have fun at least?”

“I think I did actually?” At least as long as she doesn’t think about it too long.

“Ooooh? Please, do tell me while we walk over to my quarters.”

So Jian follows her back out and into the gardens, describing her day and evening with the archon as she does. At first, she tries to keep her phrasing vague, to not dwell on the confusion that her happiness still brings her, but Lynx keeps pressing for more details until she has explained nearly everything. Except for her moments of agony over the sink, of course.

Lynx nods as she finishes. “This is very good, very good. Do you want me to use your name as well? Or is that strictly for the archon’s ears only?”

Jian sighs. “It’s Jian. You may use it if you want.” If she has accepted the situation, there’s no point in being coy.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jian. I hope that means you’re starting to feel a bit better about your time here with us?”

Jian is saved from having to respond by the view that opens up as they round a corner in the tall hedge they’ve been following for the last several minutes. A small stream flows over a bed of stones and under a bridge of intricately latticed black metal and pale wood. Beyond, lush grass covers the open center of a grove of heavy dark fallen trees, while a small cabin sits at the far end, pressed against the encroaching forest. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you so much. I like to think so as well. And privacy is a valuable commodity, don’t you think?”

“Very much so. Valthiel must value you greatly.” Jian says as she speeds up a bit to draw even with Lynx as they finish crossing the bridge.

“I hope so, yes,” replies Lynx. Her ears are turning a bit pink.

“I think he does. Every time your name comes up, it’s clear he trusts you a lot.”

Lynx stops and bites her lip. “I wouldn’t know… I haven’t talked with him much lately.”

Impulsively, Jian grabs the drukhari and wraps her in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Just…” Lynx sighs. “Remind him that I still exist, will you?”

“He said he’d like to see you, when we’re done here. Both of us, actually.”

Jian doesn’t need to be a seer to notice the change in Lynx’s demeanor. “Oh? Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. He just said he was happy I was spending time with you and that we were welcome to join him after.”

“It sounds like a plan, then.” Lynx resumes walking towards the cabin. “But for the moment, let’s enjoy a game and some wine.”

Sitting across from Jian, Lynx hands her a goblet of liquid, such a brilliant red that it almost seems orange. A bottle joins the chess pieces on the table and Lynx helps finish setting up the board with deft fingers.

Jian takes a sip. “Gods, this is amazing.” It has a sweet, fruity note, but still somehow clear and sharp, a cool knife on her tongue.

“Thank you. I like to wrap up the day with a glass or two.” Lynx moves a pawn forward.

Matching her, Jian replies. “That is one thing I can say about my time here: all of the food has been amazing.”

“The Kabal of the Ashen Rose grows a lot of its own crops, and our connections with the corsairs enable us to get things from offworld as well. One of the lesser benefits of having our own pocket dimension in the city.”

“Commorragh is a lot larger than I thought it could be.”

Lynx pulls out an adjacent pawn. “I’ve heard that before. I suppose it proves the brilliance of our technology at the height of the empire.”

“I can barely comprehend how large it is. Not that I got a proper look at it while I was outside.” She shivers involuntarily at the reminder of what happened before she arrived here.

“You didn’t miss much, trust me. Commorragh is not a tourist friendly city.”

“I know.” Jian looks down at her lap. She’s certainly seen more of it than she ever thought in her worst nightmares that she would.

Placing a hand on top of Jian’s, Lynx speaks quietly. “This place here isn’t too bad, though. Especially not when you get a slice of it all your own.” She adjusts her position and tops up Jian’s glass. “Not that it beats realspace.”

“Have you spent much time there?” Jian asks in surprise. As far as she knows, Lynx has lived her entire life in Commorragh. Although, she reflects, she knows little of who she was before their meeting.

“Oh, yes. When Valthiel still traveled with his corsair crew, I went with him. It was amazing.” She smiles fondly.

“Do you have any stories you want to tell me?” Jian moves a knight over her line of pawns, into the playing field of the board.

It seems as though Lynx was simply waiting for an invitation. She launches into a narrative, painting a vivid picture of the Four Winds corsairs, of which the archon was a member. It becomes clear to Jian that the eldar love for a tale well told has not been lost in their dark kin. Lynx recounts a long and bloody campaign against a pack of mon’keigh aligned with She Who Thirsts, ending in the death of one of the men who commands the eponymous four sections of the fleet, but the ultimate victory of the corsairs. Despite the multiple glasses of wine she drinks while listening, Jian notices that the descriptions of the chaos cultists and their mad deeds sound rather like the horror stories she’s heard about Commorragh’s haemonculi covens. More interesting still is the almost son-like relationship that the archon seems to have had with Jhovar, the so-called Iron General and another of the four princes of the winds.

By the time Lynx has finished, they’ve long since abandoned their game and are well into a second bottle of wine. The brew is strong and Jian finds that Lynx has curled herself onto the couch next to her, Jian’s own head resting against her shoulder. The stream is barely visible from this far away, but she can just make out a bit of silver near the edge of the grove. Another glass of wine is in her hand- her fourth, she thinks.

Lynx hums in pleasure. “This is quite nice, actually. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect to enjoy your company as much as I do.”

“I had fun too. Thank you for spending time with me.” Even in the pleasurable buzz of intoxication, Jian can still remember her manners.

“Any time, sweetie.” Lynx runs her hands through Jian’s hair. “We have to do it again, soon.”

“Of course!” Everything feels warm and golden, a sort of rightness that she knows will disappear as soon as the alcohol fades. Yet this doesn’t bother her. Her tongue moves without her asking. “I like having a friend.” _Friendship? Is that what this is?_ She doesn’t trust Lynx with her thoughts, can’t imagine letting her into her pain or telling her about her home… but there is an undeniable connection between them as well. An understanding, perhaps. 

“I can’t imagine they’re in ample supply here, no. I’m happy to know you as well.” She pauses and Jian can feel her attention wandering before she speaks again. “How about you? Do you have any tales of adventure or excitement you want to share?”

“Not really, the -“ she stops. Her words tumble over one another and she forces herself to reorient. “The trip where I was captured was my first expedition off world as an aspect warrior. I had been in combat before, but only minor skirmishes.” She barely remembers her other battles, a blur of movement and death locked in whatever part of her spirit holds her war mask now.

“I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll have to make sure Valthiel takes you with him on all his adventures now, won’t we?” She leans her head against Jian’s.

“Okay. You’ll be there too, right?”

“Of course.” Jian can feel Lynx’s head move to look at her more directly. “You really don’t like being alone, do you?”

“It gives me too much time to think.” Much as she hates the idea of being with the archon every day for the rest of her life, the thought of spending endless hours in Commorragh with nothing but her own mind is far worse.

“I understand.” She moves down to stroke Jian’s ear, an intimate contact that makes her stiffen slightly even in the relaxed pleasantness the wine has brought on. “Would you like it if I set up a cot in here so you could stay the night whenever you want?”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Her hand slides across Jian’s shoulders, stroking them. 

“What are you doing?” The contact feels… nice. Too nice. But she’s too comfortable to really get upset about it.

“Just… enjoying the moment.”

Jian falls silent for a while as her mind floats away, then back to herself. She could fall asleep like this. “Why do you live here, by yourself?”

“Several reasons.” Lynx’s caresses are working their way down Jian’s body. “I like my independence. And I don’t… mix well with the other sisters in the kabal. This way they stay out of my way and I stay out of theirs. Win-win.”

This seems to make sense. “It’s beautiful. The archon must value you highly.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m sure he does, but we don’t really talk about such things.”

“He gave you this place, didn’t he? He must like you on some level,” Jian says as the pace of the massage increases. She can feel herself growing almost aroused, something in her responding to the gentle touch, but she can’t bring herself to bat the hand away.

“He’s one of the good ones for sure.”

“I don’t think he would do that if he didn’t like you.” She’s not conveying what she feels properly, but she hopes Lynx understands. Suddenly, she blurts “He said he loved me.”

Instantly, she can feel Lynx tense. A few heartbeats pass before she speaks. “He did? When?”

“This morning. When we were sleeping on the couch. He wasn’t awake all the way.” Now that Lynx has stopped stroking her, she finds herself drifting back towards sleep.

“I see…” The stiffness leaves Lynx’s posture and she sighs quietly. “You likely shouldn’t confront him about it. It will only embarrass him.”

Jian nods. She has no intention of doing it. The thought of him feeling for her whatever passes for love in this place is horrifying. To be even more dominated and possessed…

Her train of thought is interrupted as Lynx slides her hand into the front of her robe. “Hey! What are you doing?” Her voice comes out less firm and defined than she’d like it too.

“Like I said, just enjoying the moment.” Lynx bends down and nibbles on her ear. “Do you mind?”

“Yeah…”

“Ah.” She removes her hand and pulls away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Is this better, then?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She’s so _tired_.

“Very well.” Even in her half-asleep state, Jian can detect an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. A moment later, a blanket drapes over her body and a pillow slides under her head. “Sleep well, sweetie.”

“Thank you,” Jian manages to mumble in response.

“Don’t worry. It’s my pl-“

Before she can finish her response, Jian is asleep.

* * * *

_The former Banshee lies on the couch in the pile of blankets and cushions as her slumber fills with visions of her past failures and regrets, the painful memories that she tries so hard to ignore._

_On the other side of the clearing, the lhamean sister curls up on the bridge, dangling her fingers in the cool water of the stream until she too falls asleep under the sky, face pressed into the rough boards._

_And high above them both, in his richly appointed suite, the archon sits at his desk, rest eluding him as he loses himself in the past._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wondering, yes, there is more to the archon's apparent love confession than meets the eye.


	8. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, that was a long one. 
> 
> Thanks again to Ashilaa_A03, as well as to my roommate and my SO for all your guys' work in making sure this chapter made sense and offering feedback on relationship development, prose, and lore.

Jian stretches as she steps outside, onto the porch of Lynx’s cabin. She woke up a few minutes ago and realized that the other woman was on the bridge they’d crossed last night, so she dressed before coming out to see her. Her memories of the night before are covered in an alcoholic haze, but she can’t help but feel like something had gone wrong just before she fell asleep.

Lynx still looks to be asleep, lying directly on the boards with her face only inches from the water. Frowning, Jian returns inside to pick up some blankets and pillows before walking over.

Sure enough, Lynx’s breathing is slow and steady and her hand dangles in the stream, as though she fell asleep staring at it. Jian places a blanket over her and sits down. She needs to return to her room soon. The archon suggested that her first training session with his bodyguards be this morning and she will need to change into the promised armor. But she has a few minutes to enjoy the rare natural beauty and wait for Lynx to wake up. Without knowing what happened, she is hesitant to hurry the process.

She doesn’t have to wait long before the other woman stirs and sits up with a slight groan. “Good morning. You’re up, I see.”

“I am. How are you? Not too hung-over, I hope?”

Lynx shakes her head. “Not at all. You?” Her tone is stiff, polite and automatic rather than truly wondering.

“Surprisingly, no.” A bit of an odd taste in the back of her throat is the only sign of her indulgence last night. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” Lynx stands. “I should make you some breakfast. You can’t spar on an empty stomach, after all.” She rearranges her dress before walking towards the house, not making eye contact.

Jian grabs her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I am fine.” Still, she avoids Jian’s eyes.

“If you’re certain. I am sorry I asked.”

With a sigh, Lynx pulls free. “As I said, it’s nothing. You made it clear last night what you want our relationship to be and I am sorry that I overstepped your boundaries. It will not happen again.” She grabs the pillows and blankets from Jian’s arms. “Will tea, bread, and cheese suffice for breakfast?”

Jian blinks, confusion filling her. What happened last night? Was Lynx attempting to start a relationship? How could she? Why would she? Surely the archon would kill them both if he found them together in such a way. “Of course. That sounds delicious. Let me help you.”

“No, no.” Lynx continues toward the cabin. “I am the one tasked with looking after you, sweetie. Just make yourself comfortable and I’ll have your breakfast ready in no time.”

For some reason, this annoys Jian. “I’m not a snowblossom, Lynx. You don’t need to take care of me like a child.”

“Nevertheless, it is my role and place.” She smiles, and if Jian didn’t know to look for the hurt in her expression, she would have missed it. “Please, make yourself comfortable while I finish.”

Tired of arguing, Jian takes a seat on the couch and passes the time looking around the room for details she didn’t notice last night. The inside of the building is just as simple as the exterior, decorated in the subdued color scheme the drukhari seem to favor to the exclusion of all else. A pair of low couches face each other across a low table with the chessboard still in the middle of their game. Heavy tapestries cover most of the walls and most of the furniture is of darker color, but Lynx has brought in a few sprays of flowers and leaves to soften the look a bit.

She doesn’t have to wait long, however, before Lynx returns and places a plate of food in her lap. Jian starts eating, inviting Lynx to sit next to her. She does, but remains at arm’s length, staring down at her lap.

“Don’t you want to eat?” Jian’s brief good mood from last night is rapidly vanishing with this new standoffish attitude. She’s not sure if it’s sadness or anger she feels, but it hurts nonetheless.

“I don’t usually eat breakfast, I’m afraid. But thank you.”

Sighing, Jian stands. “Well, I should probably put my armor on. I had fun last night. Thank you for inviting me.”

“And I should see that a spare bed is installed before I resume the rest of my duties.” This time, there is no mistaking the pain in her voice.

“If you don’t want me around, just say so.”

“I do.”

“Did I say something last night?” Jian kneads at her temples. Perhaps she is a little hung over, despite her statements to the contrary.

“Nothing out of order,” Lynx replies. “I overstepped my bounds and touched you in a way that was obviously suitable for a closer relationship than you want ours to be. My offer of a spare bed remains, though.”

It is as she suspected, then. The thought is seductive. It might be nice to be with a woman again. Although Lynx is no slave and thus still more than capable of killing Jian with impunity, she somehow feels less intimidated by her than she does by the archon.

But she can’t. Not when the shadow of the archon hangs over them. Jian can’t even let her mind start down that pathway. “I see. I’m sorry if I got upset. Being touched like that brings up bad memories. I would love to be your friend. But the archon… I’m really not ready.”

Lynx nods. “No need to explain, dear. I will be here if you need any help. I promise.”

Confused and upset, Jian leaves the cabin and walks back through the gloom to her quarters. A mannequin has been placed in the center of the room, dressed in a set of armor. She walks around, inspecting it. It’s certainly less protection than she’s used to wearing. A sleeveless, fitted top overlayed in silver-painted darkmetal that cuts off above the bottom of her ribcage, leather pants that she can tell will fit like a second skin, and heeled, armored boots that reach to mid-thigh. She can only hope that it’s more flexible and protective than it looks.

Sighing, she peels off her dress and begins to put on the outfit. The pants slide on with no more than the expected difficulty, but when she pulls the first boot on, she can tell that something is wrong. It feels as though dozens of tiny hooks dig into her, sinking barbed claws through her skin and sending an electric impulse through her nervous system. Jian gasps in alarm and tries to take the shoe off, but it remains, stuck.

She swears under her breath as she walks lopsidedly over to the bed to get better leverage. Yet somehow, as she does, she begins to feel… not exactly used to the sensation. But as the initial shock of pain fades from the forefront of her awareness, she begins to realize that the armor is responding to her movements in a manner similar to the way her wraithbone did. Perhaps the stabbing was it connecting to her nervous system somehow?

Biting her lip, she returns to the mannequin and picks up the other boot. The stabbing repeats itself, but this, too, becomes more of a coldness in the back of her mind as she adjusts to the unfamiliar balance of the boots. She steels herself and pulls on the top half of the armor.

This moment is the worst yet as the armor sinks itself into the soft flesh of her breasts and the muscles of her shoulders, but she pushes down the urge to cry out and turns her attention to adjusting the belt and the fingerless gloves that came with it and to tying back her hair. She’s running out of time.

A sword rests on a chair nearby and Jian unsheathes it before strapping it on. The design isn’t identical to the power sword she wielded as a Banshee, but it is similar. She hopes the differences will be quickly apparent and easy to adapt to.

Whoever dropped off the armor had the foresight to leave directions to her destination, so Jian finds the gymnasium easily. Taking a deep breath, she straightens herself and steps inside, where her heart nearly stops.

Seven incubi stare back at her, each well more than a head taller than she and much broader. Each man wears a massive suit of black armor, flanged and spiked and glinting with a slight purple iridescence, and carries a heavy, hooked klaive nearly as tall as Jian. Glinting in amongst the points of their armor, she can see small bits of incongruous color. Shattered waystones, each one another one of her people whom the bearer has killed and condemned to She Who Thirsts. Jian can’t help but wonder if the rest of her shrine has met a similar fate. 

_Stupid_. An archon’s bodyguards… what else had she expected? Perhaps this was his plan all along, to humiliate her by letting his men savage her, confident that if she survives, she will never ask to hold a blade again.

One of the men steps forward. His armor is more elaborate than the rest and the front of his mask painted white, giving the effect of a bleached skull. Jian can feel the judgmental look he gives her, even without being able to see it. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” he says in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Yes.” What is the alternative, really? To give up, admit defeat, and accept that she will live the rest of her life as a decoration?

He grunts. “And you have received basic instruction in swordsmanship?”

“I have, my lord.” She has no idea how to address him, but this seems safe.

“Very well.” He nods at two of the other men. They step forward, klaives at the ready. “You will defend yourself against Trayvan and Kaldrath. I will tell you when the exercise is over. We believe in full contact and I suggest you do the same.”

Two? He wants her to fight two of them? Incubi are renowned as some of the best swordsmen in the galaxy, a match for the best Howling Banshees or Striking Scorpions. Jian isn’t sure if even Verynia could fight two at once. “Begin,” the hierarch’s voice rings out.

Settling into a defensive stance, Jian glances back and forth, ready to move at an instant’s notice and trying to stay alert for the direction of attack. She can’t hope to fight them head-on. The size difference alone would spend her before she had time to make any progress. But if there’s one thing she knows how to do, it’s move quickly. She just has to stay away from their strikes long enough to find an opening.

The first incubus – Kaldrath, she thinks – makes the first move, aiming for her torso. Jian raises her sword to block, hoping to turn it into a spinning dodge to impede follow-up attacks.

The klaive slams into her sword with a blow that sends sharp tension echoing through her whole body. Jian’s wrist bends with the impact, sending a sudden deep ache up her arm. She has no time to consider the injury, however. A wave, a _pulse_ of some kind ripples into her stomach, hot and thick. Her blood boils, searing her veins and lighting her nerves on fire. She screams.

A fist slams into her face, hard and spiked, and her nose gives way under the impact. Blood streams into her mouth. Jian grits her teeth and blinks the tears from her eyes. His partner will try to press the advantage, she can’t let the pain overwhelm her defenses.

The second incubus dashes toward her, aiming a slash toward her more open side. She’s learned her lesson, though, and ducks forward to avoid the strike altogether. Her slash at his legs goes wide as he easily jumps over it, but no blade bites into her back. A success.

Her blood is up now and despite herself, she smiles. A cold expression. Her war mask is not lost, merely hidden. Kaldrath is going to strike at her back. A kick will do nothing with their relative sizes and the weight of his armor. She dives backwards, channeling her momentum into a roll that will bring her back to her feet.

A flash of pain shoots across her back, followed a second later by a diagonal line of warmth as blood wells up in the wound. Before she has time to cry out, before she even has time to realize what’s happened, another armored fist connects with her face, knocking her from her feet.

She can’t give up yet. She lashes out blindly at the hand as she falls, hoping to at least distract her attackers long enough to keep them from finishing her off while she’s in the air. As soon as she hits the ground, she’s scrambling backwards, trying to put distance between herself and them while she gets to her feet.

One of the incubi stomps on her knee and she feels it give way with a _snap._

Jian screams.

Her sword is slapped away even as she raises it. Something hard presses against her stomach and again, the horrific heat, drying her throat and turning her shout to a hoarse croak.

Images rise in Jian’s mind. Her mother’s life draining away while the redheaded archon laughs. Jian helpless and forced to watch. A man in the same armor standing at her side and ensuring it all went smoothly.

 _They haven’t called the exercise yet._ The thought fills her and she claws out, blind, to show that she hasn’t given up.

Another cut, almost delicate this time, blossoms across her belly. The red haze turns to black and she passes out. 

The next time she’s aware of herself, all she feels is pain. Like someone slashed her with a sword and stomped on her face, she supposes. But she’s not dead, at least not yet.

Shifting her position, she feels bandages wrapped around her abdomen, a bed beneath her and a light covering on her naked body. She drags her eyes open. The room is small, clinically white.

“Well, someone had fun.” Lynx’s voice.

Jian looks and finds her sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. “My head hurts.” Yet somehow, she doesn’t feel bad, exactly. The aches and stings fill her mind with a clarity that she hasn’t felt since _before_.

“What were you THINKING!” says Lynx, her voice rising into a shout. She stands and walks to the side of the bed.

Instantly, Jian feels defensive. “I can’t sit on my ass all day while the archon is busy. I need something to do.”

“Yes…” Lynx rolls her eyes. “And you have no other options, and I’m sure that Valthiel will have no problem with you showing up in his bed already carved up like a fresh steak.”

“I need a sword in my hand, Lynx. And he was the one suggested this.”

“And why do you need a sword?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

How to explain… how to get across the lack of purpose and the feeling of drifting that had plagued her since the constant terror abated? “Because it’s the thing in the whole galaxy that makes me feel the most alive,” she says softly.

Lynx crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re still making a mistake.”

“I’m sure I will improve with time. I’ll be fine.” Gods, does Lynx think that little of her? Going back fills Jian with fear, but it’s not as though she’ll be doing this poorly forever.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I will deal with it then.”

“Fine,” Lynx snarls. “You keep doing that, and I’ll keep patching you up each time. But I’ll leave it to you to explain to the archon why you look this way.”

Jian blinks, taken aback by the sudden venom. Lynx must still be upset from their conflict last night and this morning. Whatever it was about.

“You are in functional condition. You’re free to leave whenever you desire and spend the day as you see fit. I would recommend you take it easy, though.” She turns and leaves without another word.

With yet another sigh, Jian makes up her mind to apologize to her later.

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? How can she even _want_ to be friendly with people like this? She should be ashamed of herself. What would Verynia think of her, training with incubi?

Closing her eyes, she lets the pain block out everything else and push the questions and fears from her mind. She has no idea how long it takes her to calm herself, but eventually she finds herself centered again.

She can do this. She can go back, learn everything they have to teach her, no matter how difficult the lessons are. Feel just a bit less helpless in the wastelands of Commorragh.

For now, though, she should get dressed and return to her room. Her master may want her.

* * * *

Weeks pass. The archon seems to accept her explanations of being out of practice to account for her injuries, although she notices he brings it up repeatedly, as though it concerns him. Perhaps he doesn’t find bruises attractive. He doesn’t order her to stop, though, so she continues attending her training every time she’s healthy enough to attempt again.

It doesn’t get better. Even a dozen sessions in, Jian finds herself barely able to hold her own for a few seconds before whichever incubus she’s fighting that day has her on the ground, pressing a boot into her chest. Sometimes she manages to crawl out of the ring and bring herself back to her room to lick her wounds, but more often her next awareness is of waking up under the care of one of the sisters. It becomes increasingly clear that the incubus captain – Bealfor Vrash, as she’s learned is his name – has no intention of giving her any actual instruction. At first Jian assumes that this is on the archon’s directive, but she later concludes that it’s more likely the result of creative interpretation on Lord Vrash’s part.

At least spending so much time unconscious makes the days pass quickly.

True to her word, Lynx helps tend her injuries, but remains aloof. Jian finds every attempt to apologize for rejecting her or to bridge the sudden coldness that has remained between them rebuffed with a polite deflection. Perhaps giving up on the sword training would improve Lynx’s mood, but Jian can’t bring herself to do that. The pain grounds her and gives her strength. Like the sword and the armor and the movements of combat itself, it makes her feel alive in a way little else here does.

Life between sparring sessions takes on an oddly slow pace. The archon sends for her most days, although often only for a short time late in the evening or first thing in the morning, leaving her alone in her room much of the time. Unsurprisingly, her sexual services are requested regularly. Jian learns to please him in more positions than she’d ever thought of attempting in her prior life, although he seems to particularly enjoy it when, as on that first morning, she uses her mouth. None of her subsequent attempts are quite as horrifying as the first, though. The knowledge that she can deny him on occasion makes it easier to tell herself that it’s just this one time, that next time she can say no if she just does it this once. Sex becomes pedestrian, a duty rather than something to be particularly anticipated or dreaded. The archon is domineering and aggressive in bed, particularly during the frequent bouts of vague sadness that seem to plague him, but never cruel. Any additional bruises their activities generate seem to be accidental, and he at least keeps to his word of not pushing her to spend nights in his bed as well.

Much stranger to her is how often he appears content to simply spend time with her. With increasing frequency, Jian finds her master offering her walks in the garden, games of chess or cards, meals and wine tastings, and even a place on his lap while he reads aloud from ancient scrolls of the aeldari myths and legends or listens to a musical performance. The intimacy of these hours spent in his presence frightens her, as does the message she reads in it – she is expected to whore herself to him emotionally as well as physically. Yet at the same time, she can’t help but find herself enjoying the contact. A reminder, perhaps, that she’s more than a piece of meat to be kicked and stabbed and fucked for others’ amusement.

 _A reminder that would be welcome this afternoon_ , she thinks, as she kneels over the edge of the archon’s bed. Her face presses into the soft blankets and his nails bite into her wrists, pinning her in a vise as he thrusts into her. Each movement slams her hips into the bedframe again, but still she can’t ignore the tension building in her stomach, ready to spill over into ecstasy. She wants this just as much as she doesn’t want it. Jian’s moan turns to a cry of alarm as he twists her arms behind her back and his hold on her tightens. A moment later, she feels the telltale release of tension as he finishes and pulls himself out of her. Her job is done, for the moment.

Jian breathes a deep sigh and stares vaguely at the wall. Her mind is still filled with warm, soft waves of pleasure and desire that leave her weak and listless as he climbs onto the bed. Like a drug that can’t help but have a biological effect even as she hates herself for injecting it again. 

“Mmm…” the archon sighs happily and pulls her up, into his arms. His soft fingers brush at her ears, sparking smaller flashes of the same pleasure. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Jian considers. “Tired.”

“I see.” He continues stroking her ear. “Then we will spend the rest of the afternoon here in bed. You can sleep and I’ll order up some bread and tea.”

She shakes her head. “No, I could do something else.” The fog that fills her head won’t be helped by staying here being fondled.

Adjusting their position so she faces him, the archon looks down into her eyes. “Are you sure?” Jian nods in response. “Well, then, why don’t you get yourself cleaned up while I finish a few things here? We’ll go for a walk.”

It’s phrased like a question, but Jian knows there’s no real choice in his words, so she climbs out of his bed and walks over to the washroom. By the time she’s cleaned up the evidence of their activities, the intoxication has begun to fade and she’s thinking more clearly. She splashes herself with cold water to finish the process and soothe the bite marks that dot her shoulders before stepping back out into the main part of the suite.

The archon beams at her as she enters. “Perfect. Now get dressed and we’ll take a walk.” 

Jian obeys, considering as she slides into the bits of leather and silk and adjusts the straps of her latest outfit. Something has changed while she was washing up, some subtle shift in his attitude. She’s not sure what it means, but it doesn’t seem to be for the worse.

As she finishes, he appears behind her and wraps something around her shoulders. A cloak, she realizes. He fastens it and takes her hand. “You’ll need this.”

“What for?” she replies, tugging at the soft purple fabric.

He leads her towards the door. “I thought I would take you on a tour of the kabal this afternoon. This is your home now, and you might like to see a bit more of it than the gardens and the top floors of the spire.”

“Alright.” Jian isn’t sure if it sounds like a good idea or not. She is starting to feel trapped in a very small space, limited to a few rooms and supervised trips outside, and it might be nice to see more of how the kabal functions. Anything to break up the monotony and give her mind something to do. On the other hand, who knows what horrors he plans to show her? The archon may be shockingly civilized, but she’s under no illusion that his pretty face and pretty rooms and pretty gardens aren’t maintained by the suffering of thousands.

They emerge from the building on a small landing platform, where one of the small flying craft that speed through the skies waits for them, driver at the ready. With a strange twinge, Jian realizes that this is the same spot where they landed on her first evening here. It feels like much longer ago than it really was. At least many of her fears have proven unfounded. Even if not all of them.

Settling into his seat, the archon offers her his hand to enter and helps her arrange her cloak as the flyer takes off. They sit in silence for several minutes before he speaks. “I hope you’re settling in well. You seem a bit less tense these days.”

“Do I? I’m glad.” She likely does. Time has proved Lynx’s reassurances true; he does not seem to be planning to torture her for his own amusement. This, coupled with the gradual inuring of her mind to the atmosphere of Commorragh itself, has helped her relax a bit. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing. Perhaps she’s just numbing to the horror and the next step will be participating.

“Sometimes I hear you singing in your room.” He twists his fingers into her hair, pressing her head against his shoulder.

“You do?” She had assumed she was alone.

He nods. “Sometimes when I walk by. You have a beautiful voice.” His tone turns teasing. “And a rather impressive volume. I can almost believe you didn’t need the mask to make those shrieks of yours.”

Jian doesn’t respond. What exactly is she supposed to say to that?

With a sigh, the archon takes up the slack in the conversation. “Do you play any musical instruments?”

“No. Singing was the only thing that interested me. And my voice was always with me, so there was little incentive.” Why does she keep talking? Why does she keep letting herself get sucked into his fantasies of relationship? She’s as complicit in her taming as he is.

“Is there anything else that would make your room more comfortable? More books, perhaps?”

“More books would be nice.” Reading is a good way to pass the time, and she’s gone through everything that was on the shelf twice. She considers more. “Perhaps something to draw with?”

“Of course! I didn’t know you liked to draw.” The archon sounds excited.

Jian feels her face flame, remembering that it’s one of his hobbies as well. “I don’t. But I thought perhaps I could learn.”

“Of course! I’ll teach you!” The archon slides his hand down to her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”

“Alright.” More time in his presence. Just what she needed.

A few minutes later, the flyer touches down and the archon helps her out. This landing platform is atop a hill. The wind is stronger here, and it’s even colder than it was back at the palace. Jian pulls her cloak around herself as she looks around. Fields stretch around them in every direction. She doesn’t recognize any of the plants growing, although she’s too far away to see much detail. Massive, long-limbed contraptions float above the rows, a being or two on top of each.

“We grow most of our own food,” the archon says. “Perhaps not the most efficient use of our space, but anything that makes us less reliant on the rest of the city will benefit us in the long term.”

Jian nods, without looking away from the fields. “Lynx mentioned something like that.” There’s fewer people then she expected. “Is it mostly automated, then?”

The archon nods. “Here, let me show you.”

They spend the next hour wandering through the fields, the archon showing her all the different crops the kabal grows and the vast barns that house rows upon rows of animals to feed the high-ranking members alongside huge vats of artificial protein for the rank and file. Thick forest lies beyond the fields, apparently stocked with beasts for the higher-ranking members of the kabal to hunt for sport and additional meat. By the time they make it back to the flyer, Jian’s mind is filled with images of animals trapped in tiny cages, pumped full of nutrients and artificial muscle stimulation. She supposes it is indeed better than the alternative, which the archon claims is to follow the path of the other kabals and rely on food won in realspace raids.

“We still need to buy or capture some of our supplies, but if need be, we could feed seventy percent of our current numbers solely from these fields,” he says as he climbs back into the flyer. He offers Jian his hand.

Their next stop is the barracks where the kabal’s foot soldiers spend most of their lives. Some train in shooting ranges and sparring gyms, others eat in a massive cafeteria hung with banners in the kabal’s heraldry: black with a stylized rose in bone white and a dull, poisonous green. Rows of bunks line long dormitories where warriors sleep or while away their off-duty hours with cards, conversation, drinking, or sex. Jian spots a few engaged in some kind of game involving a row of daggers laid out on the floor and sudden bursts of motion followed by shouts of jubilation and frustration.

For some reason, the last of these scenes sends a pang of sadness through Jian. Not that she wishes for this life any more than she wants her own. But there is some alure in being faceless, one of many. Not suffocated by attention and expectations.

The archon moves them along fairly quickly, however. There’s something a bit unusual about his mood today, Jian notices. The change in his mannerisms that she noticed earlier hasn’t disappeared. He’s nervous, or possibly excited for something.

Another ride in the flyer lands them outside the second spire, where the lhamean sisters tended to Jian’s wounds when she first arrived. A willowy sister with thick dark hair that curls softly around her face arrives to greet them, bowing as she approaches. “Good afternoon, my lord. What can I do for you?” She peers at Jian with pale amber eyes as she straightens.

“Miarya,” the archon replies. “This is –“ He pauses for an instant and his eyes slide over to look at Jian. “This is Jian. I’m taking her on a tour of the kabal.”

“I see,” says Miarya. She turns to Jian with a movement so smooth it seems more like floating. “Welcome to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose.”

“Mia is the head sister here, and the matriarch of both the temple of Lhilitu and the academy where we train young girls to serve as lhameans.”

Miarya smiles politely, still speaking in a soft, lilting voice. “Would you like me to guide your tour, Lord Aire?”

“Of course.” The archon wraps a shoulder around Jian and guides her forward as they follow Miarya inside.

Despite her instinctive distrust of the woman, Jian can’t help but feel somewhat aroused by her voice and mannerisms. She supposes that centuries of training and practice as a courtesan have turned sensuality into an art as natural as breathing. In a way, the dark kin are as relentless in their pursuit of perfection as her own people are. It’s an odd and disturbing thought.

They take a different path through the spire than they did on Jian’s previous visit, descending a staircase into a web of sublevels. Each is packed with laboratories. Dozens of women bend over benches and isolation cabinets, colorful liquids boiling in flasks and dripping through lattices of delicate glass tubing. Most, according to Miarya’s narration, are poisons and antidotes with a myriad of effects. Poisons to slow the heart and induce a death-like coma, to rot flesh to a necrotic slime, or to send body temperature skyrocketing and boil their victim alive. The information is as fascinating as it is horrifying and Jian finds herself with a new respect for the skill involved in creating such substances.

Her head is spinning by the time the emerge at ground level, even the tiny bit of tainted air she’s breathed setting something not quite right in her body. Or perhaps it’s simply the effects of poor ventilation. Miarya leads them on, however, so she keeps pace with the archon and continues nodding along and asking polite questions when it feels appropriate.

“That way is the medical bay,” the matriarch says, gesturing to her right. “But I’m sure you’re already as familiar with it as you need to be.”

Jian remains silent. This, like several other comments, hits just slightly wrong. Miarya is obviously trying to insult her by reminding her of her status and of her continued failures in the training grounds, but couching it in such benign comments that it’s impossible to respond without seeming prickly. So she remains silent and looks up at the archon. He smiles down at her. “Yes, let’s see the school instead,” he says.

The lhamean school is perhaps Jian’s least favorite part of the tour. The layout itself is familiar and expected – dormitories and sparring rooms, laboratories and classrooms. Sisters instruct lhamean trainees in fighting with a variety of close-combat weapons, although slim knives, short swords, and some kind of long, needle-like implement seem to be favored. There are classes in poison brewing and etiquette and what looks to be the history of Commorragh and the known facets and political status of various kabals. And of course, there is instruction in the arts of the bedroom, with the trainees practicing postures and positions down to the smallest detail. The more advanced ones move to hands-on work, either with each other or with what Jian assumes are male slaves brought in for the purpose.

It would all be rather unremarkable if the girls hadn’t been so _young._ The youngest students still have the round features and shortened ears of childhood, and even the oldest she sees have barely finished puberty and still have the gawky look that she herself bore not long ago. It feels like an insult to Isha, to put such things on them at that age. Worse, nearly every girl she sees is attentive and even enthusiastic, as though this is exactly what she wants to be doing with her time.

If Miarya or the archon have any discomfort with the process, they don’t show it. It seems to be perfectly normal to them. Which, Jian realizes, it is. The matriarch likely was one of these girls, centuries ago, and the archon is simply so used to the idea that he no longer realizes how disgusting it is, if he ever did.

She’s glad when they leave the school.

As they reenter the lobby, the archon checks the time. “Thank you for your company, Miarya, but I’m afraid we have to leave.” He offers his arm to Jian again and she takes it.

“Of course. It was my pleasure.” Miarya smiles and looks at Jian. “It was wonderful to meet you. I’m sure we will be seeing each other again soon.”

Jian ignores her and follows the archon out into the twilight of the outside and the garden pathways between the two fortresses.

“What did you think?” the archon asks after a few minutes. He’s walking quickly and there’s a slight spring to his step, as though he is still anticipating whatever it is that has his fancy.

What does she think? “It was very impressive.” That seems safe, and true. “Thank you for showing me.”

He looks at her sideways, but apparently decides not to push further. “Thank you for spending the afternoon with me. Next time, I can show you the armory, the slave training facility, and our scourge flock.”

“Scourge flock?” The term is strange to her.

“A, erm, a type of winged aeldari. They often carry messages around the city, and we have an eyrie of them here as part of our military forces.”

Jian frowns. Winged aeldari? She’s never heard of such a thing. But with the level of medical technology present here, she wouldn’t be surprised if they could make such modifications. They continue walking in silence. _You should tell him,_ she thinks.

“Your offer to have me join you in your bed at night,” she says, sounding stiff even to her own ears. “Is that still something you desire?” It’s in her own best interest to let him do it eventually, and she has the courage for the moment.

He stops dead in his tracks. “Really?”

Jian nods. “I await your command.”

The smile is evident in the archon’s voice as he pulls her into a hug. “My door is always open for you, Jian. I have a meeting with Lord Malidrach of the Flayed Skull to discuss the upcoming raid this evening, but I would love to have you with me when I return. Will you be alright alone or with Lynx until then?”

“Of course, Valthiel.” Perhaps she should go to see Lynx again, while she is taking risks. Perhaps it would be easier to solve the problems between them if she makes a point of doing so, rather tacking it onto her morning routine or some other task.

After a moment, the archon releases her and they continue on their way. The expectancy in his posture grows as they approach the spire and take the elevator up to her quarters. As Jian unlocks the door, he places his hand over hers. “Wait,” he says softly. “Let me.”

Puzzled, Jian allows him to open the door and lead her inside. He’s never been in her room before to her knowledge. Why is he entering now?

“Close your eyes,” he says, grinning. “And keep holding onto my hand.”

Jian obeys, still confused. She takes hesitant steps after him, trying to orient herself by memory. They stop. “Now open your eyes,” he says.

She does. She stands in a small, dark space, which she quickly realizes is her closet. The archon slides behind her and turns on the lights.

Jian gasps. The clothes she’s been given to wear are still there – the variety of elaborate lingerie and scanty bits of leather and metal and gossamer and silk that comprise her daywear, which only leave slightly more to the imagination. But alongside them are dozens of other outfits, filling the rails and shelves to bursting. Robes and tunics and pants, boots and soft shoes. A pair of mannequins hold sparring armor very similar in design to her old wargear.

She steps over to the nearest rack in a daze and pulls out an item to examine it. Upon closer inspection, it’s not craftworld clothing, not quite. A mix, maybe, of slightly more revealing seer’s robes and a ranger’s coat. The rest of the clothes look to be of similar design.

“Were did you get these?” she asks.

“I have my sources, dear,” the archon smirks from his spot leaning against the doorway. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful!” Her vision blurs as she spots a stack of nightgowns in soft, fuzzy fabrics, but clears with a few hard blinks. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, dear.” The archon breaks his gaze to look down at the floor and his voice drops to a murmur. “I know you’re not fond of the way we dress here.”

“May I put one on?” Jian asks hesitantly.

“Of course!” The smile is back.

Jian sheds her clothes, wrapping herself in the new dress that she picked up first. It still ends just above the knees, but the fabric is soft against her skin and it covers up to the neck and all the way down her arms. The rich green seems coordinated to match her eyes with swirling silver floral embroidery at the hems. By the gods, she’s missed this.

“You look amazing.” The archon’s voice. She’d almost forgotten he was there, watching her.

“Thank you again.” She should thank him. She walks barefoot to him and stretches up to give him a kiss. He catches her in an embrace and holds her, but his hands remain at her waist. “I’ll – I can still wear the old clothes when I come to see you. Or these ones.”

“Whichever makes you happiest, Jian. They are your clothes, and you can dress as you feel is appropriate.” Now his hand drifts downward, squeezing her ass. A prickle of arousal races down her spine in spite of herself.

But that is the limit of his use of her for the moment, it seems. He bestows a brief kiss on the top of her head and releases her. “Alright, I need to prepare for my meeting. I will see you when I return?”

“Of course.” Jian watches him leave, then turns to stare in awe at the clothing once more. She enjoyed dressing well on Yme-loc, but even then she’d never had such a rich selection of things to wear. It’s a wonderful feeling, all the more so because of what she’s been forced into since her arrival. She has come to realize as her enslavement stretches on that most of the outfits the archon and Lynx have her wearing are fairly normal for Commorragh. But still she’s longed for something to cover her, to cultivate beauty instead of lust. The archon has given her a rich gift.

He has also, she realizes, been planning this for some time. This is likely what he’s been grinning about all day like a gyrinx that’s caught a bird. This strange bit of care churns in her stomach the same way some of their less sexual activities do. Do the flashes of kindness indicate that he sees her as more than his latest plaything? Or are they simply another way to amuse himself, the same way one might buy a pet a new toy to enjoy watching it struggle to figure out how it works?

She looks down at herself. Maybe she shouldn’t question. She should just enjoy the gift for what it is and take a bit of pleasure wherever she can find it. Besides, she has a long night ahead of her.

The lights are on in Lynx’s cabin as she approaches, but Lynx herself sits on the bridge, which seems to be a favorite spot of hers. A small bowl sits to one side of her, filled with what Jian hopes are only dried animal parts. Resting across her lap is a board on which she chops a selection of herbs. Her shoulders tighten as Jian approaches. “What do you want?”

Jian sighs. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure. Take a seat.”

“What are you working on?”

Lynx brushes some finely diced herbs into the bowl and starts on a different bundle of leaves. “An infectious neurotoxin with an increased transmission rate,” she says casually. “I’m trying an alternate formula to see if I can decrease the minimum dosage.”

“What will you use it for?” She probably doesn’t want to know.

“I will send it to the elder sisters and the archon for extensive testing.” Still, her defenses are up and her posture closed off.

Jian sighs again. If she’s going to try one last time, she might as well start now. “I want to be your friend, Lynx. I thought you wanted to be mine.”

“I di- I do. But it doesn’t seem like you want to be mine.”

“What did I do to give you that impression?”

Lynx pauses her work and for the first time actually looks at Jian. There are tears in her eyes. “Because you don’t even want me to _touch_ you. Even with all my attempts to be friendly – and believe me, it doesn’t come easy – you still see me as just another drukhari. I’m not a person, I’m an enemy, and that HURTS, Jian.”

She recoils from the sudden venom. “That’s not-“ she forces herself to calm down and breathe. “I didn’t mean to make you feel rejected. I want to be your friend. But when you touch me like that, that isn’t what I think you want. It makes me think you want me to do the same kinds of things I do for the archon.” Even if he would allow it, the thought of serving in yet another bed is even more depressing than losing a chance at finding companionship.

“I didn’t try to do that.” In the time it took for Jian to make her statement, Lynx’s tears are gone. “I’d hoped I found someone I could trust enough to –“ She waves her hand dismissively. “You know what, forget it. I was obviously wrong.”

Jian stares at her for a moment. She still isn’t sure what is going through Lynx’s head, or why she is acting this way. But at least what she has to do now is obvious. She reaches out to take her hand. “It’s alright. It was just a misunderstanding. I forgive you.” 

Lynx tenses under her touch. “… thank you.”

“I don’t even mind if you touch me. Just, not on the breasts, please. Or between the legs.”

“I understand.” Lynx stands, setting her work to the side. “Why don’t we go inside? I can get us something to eat and maybe you can show me how you prefer to be touched.”

Jian follows her inside. It’s a strange request, but she’d rather that than simply walk away. She settles on the couch and allows Lynx to sit beside her, guiding her to a proper position that doesn’t feel too intimate, perhaps is even nice. For a long time they remain there, enjoying the silence.

“Thank you,” says Lynx. “I don’t have many friends. I’m glad I didn’t fuck up making one too badly.”

Jian nods and smiles her acceptance. “It’s alright. The archon took me on a tour of the kabal today,” she adds, eager to change from the awkward subject.

“Oh really?” Lynx straightens up and looks at her. “What did you think of it?”

“I forget how large this space is. We saw the fields and barns, as well as the barracks.” She pauses. “And the school.”

“Ah, yes, the school. It’s an impressive place, is it not?”

“They’re so young…” Jian’s mind is filled with the image of classrooms of little girls learning the arts of sex and death. Lynx must have been one of them at one point, she realizes. A bit of understanding falls into place. It’s probably been a long time since she was allowed to express affection and trust in any other way.

“Young minds learn better. And most are vatborn who have already seen their fair share of it in the slums.” Lynx shrugs, but can’t quite mask a twinge of… is it pain in her expression? Regret? “Those girls are the lucky ones, really. Beautiful and clever enough to catch the sisters’ attention. The slower or plainer ones and the boys are still out there working the streets or praying not to get caught stealing from their betters.” 

“I just… They’re children.”

“There aren’t any children in Commorragh. Not really. But this is the way it’s been done for thousands of years, and the way it probably will be done until the end.” She stands, obviously eager to change the subject. “Would you like a glass of wine? I thought perhaps we could try another game of chess.”

“Something without alcohol, please, but I would love a drink and a game.” Jian allows her to drop the line of discussion. She’s right, there’s nothing to be done about it. Certainly not by her, anyway. But the sight will haunt her, she’s certain.

The rest of the evening goes by quickly. Tension lingers between them, Jian can tell, but Lynx seems happy to let it go, and by the time the game is over, they’re speaking relatively easily. They finish the evening back on the couch, curled up, enjoying the lack of need to carry on a conversation. Eventually, Jian realizes that Lynx has fallen asleep.

She looks down at her. A few strands of green hair have come loose from her braid and hang in her face. It looks lovely with her near-white skin and when she’s asleep, the sharp angles of her features seem a bit softened. She really is quite beautiful, and she could see herself being attracted to her in another life. But not in this one. There are too many things standing in the way. And she can’t abandon Reena even more than she already has.

Reena… Not for the first time, Jian longs for a way to speak to her, to send her even a short message telling her that she is alright. She’s not sure if she truly is, but this is certainly better than what Reena is doubtless imagining.

How long she stays like that, thinking of all the things she should have said, she isn’t sure. Eventually, however, she stands, careful to avoid waking Lynx, and gets ready to leave. The archon will likely return from his meeting soon, and she has promised to attend to him this evening. She writes a note to Lynx explaining her absence and sets off for the spire.

So filled is her mind with what has happened today and what will happen when she arrives that she doesn’t make the realization until she is nearly to her destination. This is the first time she has been outside unaccompanied since her arrival.

As if in response to her thought, a male voice speaks behind her. “I have nothing against the desire for empowerment in freshly arrived slaves per se. But someone as poorly armed as you are, yet equipped with your assets, should not be walking by herself.” He sounds amused, but Jian detects the danger in his words.

“I am merely going to my lord the archon, sir,” she replies, putting all the deference she possesses into her voice. There are benefits, she supposes, to being the property of someone powerful.

A man appears suddenly, almost as if he materialized from the shadows. He wears dark clothing, blacks and greys and deep greens, and his shoulder length black hair is combed back from his face. “But your lord archon isn’t here now, is he?”

“Not at the moment, no…” Jian forces herself to remain in place. She might be able to outrun him if it comes to it, but he likely carries weapons that will incapacitate her before she gets the chance.

He takes a couple of steps closer, eyeing her up and down. “In fact, I don’t see anyone nearby at all, do you? I wonder if anyone would hear you scream if the worst was about to happen.”

“I doubt they would.” There’s no point in lying. Her heart pounds.

“Indeed, I doubt they would.” He pulls a knife from somewhere behind his back. “Which is why it’s lucky I’m here.” In an instant, his whole demeanor changes, even if it still retains the condescending aspect. “Derfahn, head of security and threat management, at your service, my lady.” He gives an elaborate bow that seems more designed to show off his own panache than to convey respect.

Jian responds with a bow of her own. “A pleasure to meet you,” she lies.

“You really should be more mindful of your own safety and surroundings,” he says as he walks up to her side. “Lord Aire has enough to worry about in regards to his own safety without having to account for foolish risks on your part.”

He’s young, Jian realizes. Not a child, quite, but a good deal younger than herself. “My apologies. I will be more careful in the future.”

“I doubt you will be, but I appreciate the sentiment. I take it you are returning to your lord’s quarters?”

“I am.”

“Would you like me to escort you there, to make certain nothing _unsavory_ happens to you?” The emphasis is accompanied by an unpleasant grin.

“I would not object.” Derfahn is right, she probably shouldn’t be wandering around by herself, and it’s not as though she could gracefully refuse.

“Good girl. Seems like there might be hope for you after all.”

He gestures for her to take the lead, taking up a position behind her as she starts to walk. Jian casts a glance back over her shoulder. His arms rest lazily behind his back and he practically struts. She ignores the lingering discomfort he brings her and continues on her way.

Outside the archon’s quarters, she feels his hand on her arm. “This is where I will leave you for tonight. Just remember… mind your surroundings.”

“Understood. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be seeing you. Not that you’ll necessarily know it, in fact you most likely won’t.” He bows a final time, the formality of the gesture again undercut by his words. Jian doesn’t reply and he flashes another grin before walking down the stairs.

As soon as he’s gone, Jian turns and walks quickly to her room. If she is going to spend her night with the archon, she should dress the part. Inside, she quickly disrobes and changes into a soft, lacy chemise. A knee-length robe covers her enough to walk back to his suite and slippers protect her feet.

Despite her increased paranoia from Derfahn’s intrusion, no one accosts her before she once again finds herself outside the archon’s door. She knocks before she has time to lose her nerve.

“Come in, it’s open.” The archon’s voice is muffled, but intelligible.

Jian enters, looking around to judge his state of mind. The room is much as they left it. She can even see the covers moved slightly out of place on the side of the bed they used earlier. The archon himself half sits, half lies in an armchair, lazily sipping a glass of wine. He doesn’t seem out of sorts in any way. This likely will be a relatively painless experience.

“Good evening,” she says. “Did your meeting go well?”

“Reasonably so. We have agreed to official terms for our deal; now just comes the part where we each try to cheat the other to maximize our profits and minimize our expenses. Preferably while damaging our so-called ally.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a spiteful smile.

“I would expect nothing less,” Jian replies with a wry look of her own. At his gesture, she seats herself on a couch across from his chair and begins adjusting her clothing so it’s easier to remove.

“How about you?”

“I spent the evening with Lynx. We played chess and she told me about one of the poisons she has been developing.” Jian is certain that he’s noticed the disconnect between his bed slave and his handmaid, but he hasn’t commented on it, so she refrains from referencing it directly.

“I’m glad to hear you had a nice evening.” He eyes her curiously. “Are you ready to head to bed, my dear?”

“If you are.”

“Then make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in a moment.” He disappears into his closet.

Hesitantly, she walks over to the bed and looks at it. He isn’t acting as he normally does when he wants sex. Does that mean he was being honest in only wanting a companion for the night? But why? Or is he simply in the mood for something more romantic than their normal rutting? Either is a hopeful sign.

She turns down the bedclothes, slips out of her robe, and lays herself out to wait for him.

The archon reappears a few minutes later, wearing only a pair of loose black silk pants. Jian watches his progress across the room until he climbs into the bed next to her. A moment later, he turns out the light, immersing them in darkness.

Jian hears him groan softly, feels his movements as he adjusts his position. He kisses her neck softly, just above her collar. Almost tenderly. As she begins to roll over to respond in kind, she feels him wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into an embrace.

“I’m thrilled beyond words that you’re here to chase away my empty nights, Jian.” A blanket settles over them, bringing her even more into a cocoon.

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you –“ he hesitates. “Would you prefer if I caressed your hair, or your thighs to help you sleep?”

“Whichever you would prefer.” Jian’s head spins. It’s not that this side of the archon is totally alien to her. He seems to occasionally tire of treating her as a slave and will show bursts of deference and perhaps even kindness. But this feels more vulnerable and intimate than anything that came before; their bodies entwined, the dark hiding their faces, his hand caressing her thigh in a surprisingly innocent manner. It’s both the relief she longed for and exactly what she feared would happen tonight. Because as much as her spirit desperately needs the solace that he’s offering, it will only drag her further into his web. And the next time she crawls under his desk to suck his cock while he reads his intelligence reports, it will be that much harder to detach from herself.

“I met one of your employees earlier,” she says to distract from the line of thought.

“Mmm? Who?” With their faces so close and the room dark and quiet, he speaks very softly. It accentuates the smoothness of his voice.

“Derfahn, he said his name was.”

“Ah, yes. My chief assassin,” he replies casually. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is?” _Assassin?_ It is the best fit for the rather vague description he gave of his role.

Jian can feel the archon nod in the darkness. “Prideful and overly eager to prove himself, but a good kid nonetheless.”

She isn’t sure she believes him, but once again decides it’s best to let the matter drop. “Did you send him?”

“For you? No, I haven’t spoken with him since this morning. Where did you find him?”

“In the garden, on my way here. He told me not to wander around by myself.”

“He’s right. You should have asked Lynx to escort you back.”

His tone isn’t scolding, but she can’t help but defend herself, even as she knows he’s right. “She was asleep, I didn’t want to wake her…”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself, in fact, I’m sure you can, but…” He swallows. “I care for you, and your wellbeing and happiness are important to me.”

“Thank you.” She finds herself speaking around a lump in her throat.

“What for?”

“I didn’t think anyone would ever say that to me again.” Even if he doesn’t mean it, if it’s only some kind of treat meant to reward her for good performance in a job that she still doesn’t understand, it touches something deep inside her and brings a sweet ache. First the new wardrobe and now this admission – what has she done to deserve such things _now_?

“Well, I do care,” replies the archon. “So you had better get used to hearing it.”

Jian doesn’t respond, turning her conflicting feelings over and over, trying to make sense of them.

“It’s alright, dear,” the archon says after a few minutes. “Go ahead and fall asleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

They lie there for perhaps half an hour. The archon is still awake, she can tell by his breathing. “I hate sleeping alone,” she whispers. The darkness and the kindnesses and the physical closeness have built a pressure in her chest, the need to share something.

“How come?” He sounds alert, not like someone who was on the edge of slumber.

“It’s too quiet. I lived in a Howling Banshee shrine and I could always hear the other women making noise in their sleep or getting up in the night. And when I wasn’t there, I was at my lover’s house.”

“Making entirely different kinds of noises, I’m sure.” The archon chuckles.

“Mmm-hmm.” She falls silent, the tension relieved.

“I absolutely hate sleeping alone as well.”

“May I ask why?”

For nearly a minute, he remains quiet. Jian wonders if he plans to respond at all by the time he lets out a sigh. “Because it leaves me with nowhere for my mind to go, nothing to hold onto but the screaming and horrors of the city and the past.” He kisses her again, this time on the top of her head. “Having an anchoring presence, someone sweet and pure like you, it helps to block it out.”

Sweet and pure… how far she is from that. “I started hating it when I was very young,” she says before she can think about it.

“Any specific reason why?”

“I had nightmares. They were foolish children’s dreams, I thought She Who Thirsts would come for me personally every time I enjoyed a piece of candy. But I was afraid to go to sleep because of what it would bring. My mother would let me come join her in bed. It kept most of them away, and when I did have one, there was someone there to help bring me back to myself.” Something else beautiful and good that the drukahari have destroyed.

“My mistress would punish me by locking me in a closet when I fucked up. Likely because she knew how much I hated it, alone in the dark where I couldn’t see or hear anything except what was in my own head, and even there I couldn’t sense anything at all without someone else to connect with.”

“I’m sorry.” And she genuinely is, surprising even herself.

“Mmm. It’s in the past, though, and you’re here now, in the present where it matters.” He speaks quickly. Covering up his weakness, she realizes, with words and flattery. Distraction.

When she doesn’t respond, he resumes stroking her thigh, his breaths deep and warm on her shoulder. Jian closes her eyes and tries to let go of the guilt and fear.

Maybe, for a little while, she can pretend that everything is alright.

* * * *

_The archon and the slave sleep in each other’s arms until morning comes._

_When it does, the slave shakes herself from dreams of past hurts and present shame and returns to the incubi to cleanse herself in euphoric agony._

_The archon, meanwhile, stares after her as the emotional scent of their night together lingers on him, a reminder of secrets breathed under the cover of darkness._


	9. Viciousness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ashilaa_AO3 for her help in beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Also, you should check out her story Priming Effect for some fun Harry Potter dark fic!

Jian makes her way towards Lynx’s cabin, trying not to limp. Her ribs throb and her skin still feels like it’s on fire. Although she’s learned that the device the incubi keep using on her is called a bloodstone, she still has no idea how it works. And unlike every other wound they inflict, this one still brings a fresh world of pain every time.

She finds Lynx outside, dressed in leather armor over her robes. She wields a pair of curved, jagged blades as she dances through the forms of combat with an imaginary enemy, flowing like water from pose to pose. It’s beautiful, elegant, and utterly unlike the brutish experience she just endured, even if it has the same vicious undertones.

“You look good,” Jian says.

“Oh?” Lynx twirls around, delivering what would have been a killing blow. “Like what you see, huh?”

“I do.” Jian smiles, ignoring the residual stiffness in her face where the sisters healed a broken cheekbone. “We’ll have to spar sometime.”

Lynx transitions into a different set of stances. “So what will I get when I inevitably win, then?”

“Oh, you think it’s inevitable, huh?”

“Naturally. Don’t you?”

“Not at all.”

Spinning and twisting, Lynx finishes her maneuver with the point of one of the swords mere inches from Jian’s face. “Sounds like we’ll have to find out soon, then.”

Proud of herself for not flinching away from the almost-certainly poisoned weapon, Jian rolls her eyes at the display. “Tonight?”

Lynx sheaths the swords and purses her lips in mock contemplation. “Tempting… very tempting… You’ll be busy tonight, though, so how about tomorrow?”

“What am I doing tonight?” This is the first Jian is hearing of it, but she rarely has more than a day or two of notice for anything.

“Why don’t you come inside?” replies Lynx, turning and walking towards the cabin without waiting for a response.

Jian follows, wondering what she plans to tell her that would require being inside. A month has passed since the first time she spent the night with the archon, and little has changed in the meantime. The rift between her and Lynx has mended, and though their relationship remains a fairly superficial one, Jian is grateful for it. She needs someone to talk to who doesn’t expect things of her.

Her training sessions with the incubi still leave her unconscious more often than not, and the minor injuries the lhamean sisters haven’t deemed worth healing after each encounter have started to accumulate, leaving her with a constant edge of pain to her awareness. The archon has stopped commenting on it.

He still asks for her nearly every day, but his sex drive seems to have cooled. He only uses her in that way a few times a week now. Jian isn’t sure what to think of this. She hopes he isn’t losing interest in her, preparing to toss her aside for another. The rest of their time is spent in more of the same activities he seems to love – reading and music, food and wine, long walks and silent closeness. Occasionally Lynx will join them for dinner or entertainment, but for the most part he seems to prefer if it’s just the two of them.

True to his word, he’s also begun teaching her to draw. He’s an attentive and encouraging teacher, even if Jian feels a bit smothered by his constant attempts to instantly resolve any problems she might have. Yet even so, she finds their lessons some of the most enjoyable times spent in his presence.

Lynx doesn’t stop in the main room of the house, instead leading Jian on, through the small bedroom with its low bed and into the expansive bathroom at the back of the house. In place of its usual tidiness, the space is filled with cosmetics, potions, and a huge case, nearly as tall as Jian, the contents of which she can only guess at. “What’s all this?” she asks.

Stopping in the center of the bathroom, Lynx turns to her. “Valthiel is attending a party this evening; a social gathering of the archons of some of the dark city’s elite kabals to celebrate the collapse of our old society and the rise of the current system.” Her smile widens into a triumphant smirk. “It’s traditional to arrive accompanied, and he’s chosen you to come with him.”

“Oh,” is all Jian can think to say.

“It’s quite an honor,” says Lynx.

“What am I expected to… do?” Does he expect her to defend him when she can’t even hold her own in a training scenario? Or worse, is she to be passed around to all his friends like a bottle of cheap wine?

“Oh, you know.” Lynx waves her hand dismissively. “Just look pretty at his side and act suitably subservient. He’ll handle the rest.”

A trophy, then. “I understand. You’ll help me get ready, right?” Perhaps, given who will likely be there, the array of bruises and half-healed wounds that dot her body will be considered a positive feature, but even still, she has no idea what the archon expects her to look like. 

“Of course I will, sweetie.” Lynx pulls Jian into a hug. “You’re going to need all the help you can get to cover up this mess you’ve inflicted on yourself.”

Jian winces as the movement twists the arm that was just resocketed a few hours ago. “Do I get to wear clothes?”

“Of course. When Valthiel told me about this yesterday, I had something made for you. We want to show off your assets to full advantage now, don’t we?”

“That makes sense.” _She’s trying to help,_ Jian reminds herself. And with her training and history, she is probably a good resource. Perhaps Jian should ask her about ways to better please the archon in bed. “What do we do first?”

“Well, we’re in a bit of a rush; only a few hours left now. So why don’t you run a bath while I get some of my things together?”

Jian follows her instructions, watching as the massive tub set into the floor of the bathroom fills with steaming hot water and Lynx pours in the contents of several flasks. One she recognizes as a liniment meant to soothe tired muscles, but the rest are strange to her. After the mixture is ready, Lynx helps her undress and ease herself down into the water.

“Alright, I’m going to clean you while I see what I can do about getting you fixed up. You can help by washing your hair.”

They work in tandem, Jian doing her best to twist herself into whatever position Lynx requires as the lhamean looks over every inch of her body, rubbing her with herbal healing salves and advanced chemical ointments. She also injects her with what she can only assume are some kind of localized painkillers or muscle relaxants, as they drain some of the aches and pains from her limbs and leave her feeling just a bit weaker than she did before.

For her part, Jian soaps and rinses her hair and treats it with the oils and tonics Lynx hands her. Again, some are familiar from the regimen she’s already been given, but there are multiple additions she doesn’t recognize. She also drinks several substances that Lynx assures her are meant as preemptive antidotes to some of the poisons she’s more likely to encounter that evening.

Finally, the bath is done and Jian climbs out, feeling at least somewhat distracted from her nerves. Lynx helps her dry her skin and hair and hands her a pot she recognizes – it’s the skin lotion from her quarters, heavy with moisture and a floral scent that she assumes is appealing to the archon. She applies the cream while Lynx prepares for the next step. Neither woman speaks. This is in a way familiar territory for Jian, and her own nerves resonate off Lynx’s serious attitude. She’s happier in silence than trying to force banter.

She finds herself staring absently at her own leg and the rather miraculously healed skin. Not a sign remains of the green-brown patch where one of the incubi kicked her last week, nor of the burn from a bloodstone several days after that. _What would my mother think if she saw me now?_ Would she applaud her doing whatever she could to survive? Or would she urge her to stop delaying the inevitable and pretending she could cheat She Who Thirsts?

Lynx’s voice breaks through her melancholy. “Are you ready for me to make you up?”

Nodding, Jian takes a seat at a small table covered in cosmetics. Many of these too, she realizes, have come from her room. “Now then,” says Lynx as she knots Jian’s hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m going to start by bringing your skin up to a pristine white.”

“I guess that is what’s fashionable here, isn’t it?”

Lynx laughs. “What gave us away?”

Jian smiles wryly as Lynx covers her skin in a cool, lightweight cream. Apparently satisfied with her work, she picks up a palette of colored powders and begins to work on Jian’s eyes. “So, what does fashion look like on the craftworld where you grew up?”

“Yme-loc is a world of artisans, so it varies a great deal.” Jian thinks, trying to separate her personal preferences from broader trends. “Fitted, wrapped robes were normal for formal occasions, and our heraldry is grey and orange, so those colors appear a lot. Pleats and embroidered trim as well. I always wanted to have a robe with fur around the edges, but it wasn’t in style for certain, and the section of the craftworld we lived in was rarely cold enough to justify it.”

“Interesting. Here, it’s mainly visiting corsairs who wear fur, and perhaps a few of the hellion gangs.” Lynx sets down the eyeshadow and picks up a small jar of black cream, brushing it delicately around Jian’s eyes. “What about makeup? How did you style yourself for formal events?”

“I would do silver and green around the eyes, to match my coloring, with dark wine –“ Jian breaks off as she catches sight of her own face in the mirror. Her skin a pale grey white with red lips and purple-smudged eyes. She screams as a horde of images assaults her, the pain and terror of weeks in the hold of a slaver’s ship. Mocking laughter rings in her ears and she feels the twist in her stomach of something inside her shriveling and dying as hands grab at her –

“JIAN!” Lynx’s voice breaks through the cacophony. “What’s the matter?”

She pulls in a ragged breath. She’s on the floor of Lynx’s bathroom, curled up on the tiles. Tears she doesn’t remember crying drip from her nose. “I can’t go out like this.”

“Khaine’s flaming balls, I can take it off if you hate it that much. Just,” Lynx’s voice takes on a commanding tone. “Calm down and get off the floor.”

“Please don’t tell the archon…” she manages as she tries to collect her thoughts. If he knows, he’ll ask her what happened and she won’t be able to deny him gracefully.

“Of course.” Lynx gestures for her to sit down again and dips a cloth into a bowl of clear, sharp-smelling liquid. “Just… tell me what’s wrong.”

Jian deposits herself in chair with a shuddering sigh. The image of her own face probably won’t be as bad now that she expects it, but still she avoids looking in the mirror as Lynx wipes the color from her cheeks. “It reminds me of what happened before I came here. Because it looks the way I looked that night.”

Giving Jian’s shoulder a supportive squeeze, Lynx makes a disgusted face. “I’d like to think that my work is a bit more professional than that garish abomination.” Jian doesn’t comment. After Lynx finishes cleaning her lips, she sighs out again. “There must be something more to it than that, though.”

“It’s not just that day. I looked like that for a long time before that.”

“But what about the makeup specifically?”

“Bad memories, that’s all,” Jian murmurs. “The kabal who brought me here was not kind.”

Lynx bristles. “You know, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but you can at least do me the courtesy of not lying, okay?”

“It’s the truth! I just don’t want to tell you all the details of the worst days of my life.”

“Then you can _tell_ me that. I won’t be angry, just… talk to me.”

“I’ve told you before I don’t want to talk about it. And I still don’t.”

“I hoped you’d changed your mind.” Lynx steps aside and presents Jian with her appearance in the mirror. “See? All gone.”

“Thank you.” Jian looks up at her. “I don’t mind makeup just, you know. Not that design.”

Apparently not over her disappointment at having her work rejected, Lynx sighs again. “Let me try something else.”

Jian sits quietly as her face is redone. In a way, she’s almost grateful to have a single thing to focus her nerves on, rather than the great unknown darkness of the evening ahead. After a slightly longer interval, Lynx once again steps away to allow Jian to inspect her own appearence.

This face is similar, and yet somehow completely different. Her skin has lightened a few shades after a few months in the cold twilight of the dark city, but rather than continue in this direction, Lynx has instead chosen to simply smooth out the tone with a cream that brings a shimmer of white gold. Her eyelids have been darkened and brought out to increase their visual size, while by contrast her lips are understated and her cheeks have just a hint of color to them. “It looks great, Lynx.”

“Of course it does, I did it.” The smirk morphs into a softer expression. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“I do. I feel pretty again.”

“Any time dear.” Lynx strokes her chin. “I hadn’t quite decided how to do your hair. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I don’t even know what I’ll be wearing…”

“Come on, you must have something you like. How did you do your hair back on Yme-loc?”

Jian sighs. “Maybe some flowers in my hair?”

“Perfect!” Lynx snaps her fingers and goes to work, leaving Jian’s silver-white hair mostly loose, but pulling a bit back from her face and binding it with a few white lilies. A set of pins keeps the style in place, each topped with a black or purple faceted jewel.

As she finishes, she looks at the clock. “Oh dear, we’re running out of time.” Offering her hand to Jian, she helps her stand and directs her out of her robe before helping her into the bodice of her dress – which is, Jian realizes, what was in the large case she noticed when she entered. The heavy weight of a skirt settles around her hips and Lynx holds her hand to help her into shoes.

Jian looks at herself in the mirror as Lynx bends to fasten the ankle straps of her heels. She doesn’t know what she expected, but the outfit is extraordinarily drukhari in styling. The top of her dress is a stiff black velvet, cut to reveal her entire back and most of her sides, with a neckline that plunges in the front to past her naval, leaving only the curves of her breasts and a strip of her stomach covered. The skirt is an equally revealing affair, more of the same heavy fabric covered in black feathers that glint with a green undertone. A bit hangs to her mid-thigh in the front, but most of the bulk of the skirt lies behind the splits up the sides of her legs, where it slowly tapers into a short train. Her shoes are teeteringly high, with spiked heels that leave her eye to eye with Lynx.

“Almost done,” says Lynx. “What do you think?”

“Isha’s tits...”

“She’s sadly not available at the moment, so we’ll have to make do with yours. You look beautiful, though. You’re going to be the envy of many, even the archons, I promise.”

Her smile is genuine, but Jian can’t help but feel mocked. “Can I at least have some undergarments?”

Lynx shakes her head as she pats Jian’s hip, left exposed from the daring slit. “They’d show, I think. The corsetry field on the bodice should give you all the support you need, though.”

She _has_ felt a bit of an odd compression since putting on the dress. Drukhari technology apparently has uses outside the battlefield as well. “What else do I need to do before I go?” It’s futile to argue out of this dress, or this evening. She’ll just have to endure whatever they have planned for her.

“Just a few little things…” Lynx bustles about, adding perfume in a heavy, musky floral scent, a dusting of a powder that she promises will make Jian’s skin sparkle and taste heavenly, black nail polish and eyedrops to accentuate her pupils. “There you go. Now put these on.” She holds out a pair of gloves, fingerless.

Jian obeys, crying out in surprise as she feels the spikes of pain that she associates with putting on her armor as the gloves send probes into her flesh. Lynx guides her arms behind her back and Jian feels them begin to mesh together, the fabric knitting into a single closed sleeve that pins her arms tight behind her back and twists her shoulders. “What is this?”

Lynx’s hand rests on her shoulder. “You’re the archon’s slave, dear. No matter how much he likes you, people will have certain expectations. And if we fulfill them in this way, it has the bonus of helping your figure out a bit. Which reminds me.” She steps away and returns with a pair of thin rods, one in silver and the other in a blackened metal. Tapping them together, she holds them against Jian’s collar as they spool out into threads, twining around her neck to form an elaborate, interlaced fillagree neckpiece. They also, Jian realizes dismally, hold her head to a narrow range of positions. She won’t be able to raise it all the way or turn it to the side until the neckpiece is removed. The soft click of a leash fastening to her collar isn’t a surprise, just a depressing confirmation of what she’s suspected all afternoon. Whatever respect or care the archon has demonstrated is merely an illusion, and one that will hold no sway over tonight.

“Hey.” Lynx kisses her on the lips, a gesture that feels less one of lust than of reassurance. “Spill it. What are you worried about?”

For all the improvements in their relationship, Jian has never been able to speak frankly with Lynx about this portion of her life. The way she can never feel quite clean no matter how much she washes herself or how she can feel her own will slowly eroding in the face of living to cater to the whims of another. So she picks out a more easily solved fear and presents it. “I’ve just never been to one of these. I haven’t even left this dimension since I got here.”

“Look on the bright side.” Lynx readjusts one of Jian’s hairpins. “Everyone will be too preoccupied trying to assassinate Valthiel to even think about coming up with a plan to kill you.”

Jian smiles lamely, unsure if it was supposed to be a joke. “I think I just need to get started.”

“Come along, then.” Lynx tugs at the leash and Jian follows her, focusing on steadying her breathing. She will not arrive at the archon’s room in tears, she _cannot._

However, there is no need to wait that long. He waits for them on the front steps of his palace, dressed in the most formal armor Jian has ever seen him in. Ash-white plates trimmed in green and gold and engraved with delicate rose designs nearly hide the black bodysuit he wears under them. A heavy green cloak hands from his shoulders, shifting a bit in the breeze. Some of his hair is pulled into a topknot, while the rest hangs free, decorated with small gold beads that glow faintly with runes. His eyes connect with Jian’s and she can see him visibly start, opening his mouth and blinking in surprise as she approaches.

Giving a proper curtsy with her hands tied behind her back is nearly impossible, so she opts instead for a subtle bow. It will be a good time to test how well the threads that Lynx calls a dress remain in place with movement. “Good evening, my lord. Thank you for choosing me to accompany you tonight.”

He doesn’t reply, however, as he closes the gap between them with rapid steps. Lifting her almost effortlessly from her feet, he presses his lips to hers, kissing her. She can feel the hunger in the way he wraps himself around her and taste it on his breath. The archon guides her legs around his waist for support and holds her closer, seeming to almost drink her in as she tries to respond to his passion. It’s not as hard as it might be. The archon is incredibly talented at arousing her by touch alone, and she can feel some part of herself longing for him to take her right there on the steps.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against her own and steadying her grip around his waist with his hand. “Of course I chose you; there was no contest.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid,” she whispers before she can stop herself.

“It will be fine.” He moves in to gently nibble on her lower lip. “I’ll be there to keep you safe. I promise.”

“What do you want me to do while we’re there?”

“You’re coming as my servant, so just be of service however you deem fit. You likely will not need to do much.”

“Alright.” Jian swallows and blinks the last of the tears from her eyes. She can do this.

The archon gives her butt a final squeeze and meets her eyes. For a long moment he simply stares, seeming lost in thought and whatever he sees in the depths of her overlarge pupils. He kisses her again and she kisses back.

“We should head out…” he murmurs when he finally breaks the contact.

“Where is this party, if I may ask?”

The archon shifts her weight around his hips as he begins to walk down the stairs. “In the district of the prime kabals. Not far from the exit to our dimension, in fact.”

“And who is hosting?” The information is making her less afraid, and distracts from the pain that’s beginning in her shoulders.

“An archon by the name of Aurelia Malys is the primary backer, although several of her associates are the official hosts.”

“Thank you. Although,” Jian chuckles. “I don’t know why I asked. It’s not as though I’ll know any of them by sight.”

The archon sets her down to allow her to climb into the flyer under her own power. “And I doubt you’ll have to concern yourself with their identities either. I’m not even sure if we’ll meet them tonight.” He watches her seat herself and reaches out to fondle her ear. “You really do look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She doesn’t feel beautiful. She feels cheap and trashy, dressed to show the galaxy exactly who she is and what her uses are. But the approval makes it less painful than it might be. Keeping the sigh of defeat from escaping, she turns her attention to making herself comfortable in her seat.

It proves an impossible task, as no angle or position she can find avoids putting even more pressure on her arms or bunching her skirt awkwardly around her. The shaping imbued in the top part of her dress seems to extend even to parts the fabric doesn’t cover, forcing her to sit perfectly straight and constraining her even further.

After a few minutes, the archon notices her squirming and pulls her sideways onto his lap. She falls still as she leans against him, resigned to getting through the evening as quickly as possible.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, the flyer lands on a large platform, perfectly placed amongst a sea of similar vehicles in a myriad of colors and stylistic variations. The archon vaults over the side with a dramatic flourish of his cloak, then opens the door and urges Jian out with a tug on her leash. She obeys, heart pounding, and tries to focus on managing her dress and shoes. Taking a fall in this outfit could have disastrous consequences, for both herself and the archon.

A servant gestures for them to follow him along the catwalk that leads from the landing pad into the spire itself. The archon leads her forward carelessly, the leash loosening and tightening as he pays little attention to his movements. In the space between adjustments to her posture and attempts to guess her master’s next move, she finds time to look around.

The pavilion they are about to enter is massive, big enough for the perhaps three hundred guests to mingle freely without feeling crowded. A soaring roof covers the entire area, with a dozen lower canopies forming implied rooms for conversations or dining. Although Jian doesn’t know enough about the drukhari to identify those present, even by rank or title, she surmises that the guests comprise the elite of Commoragh society. Men and women wear elaborate suits of darkmetal armor or tight leather outfits cut away to show as much of their colorless skin as possible. A few incubi wander through the crowd, towering over most of their fellows. Nearly everyone present radiates power, poise, and a cruelty so intense that Jian can practically taste it in the air.

And their eyes. As the archon enters the room, she can feel the attention of those nearby turning first to him, sliding along the silver chain that dangles from his hand, and coming to rest on her. Many return to their conversations after, but some linger, ripping the clothes off her body in their minds. In their gazes, she can feel the hunger, the desire to see her suffering and helpless at their hands, and her heart seizes.

They have walked perhaps two dozen steps into the room when the archon stops. For a long, long moment he surveys the room and the other guests. He turns to her and meets her eyes. “You know, why don’t we le – “

He cuts off as a young aeldari man approaches him with a tray of delicate glasses filled with clear liquid. Perhaps Jian’s own age, he’s obviously of craftworld origin and dressed in an outfit so minimal that it might be more decent had he been fully nude. A tattoo of a snake wraps around his shoulder and a heavy, spiked collar around his neck. The archon takes one of the drinks without a second glance at the slave, who walks off.

Before the motion is completed, something grabs at Jian from behind and she sucks in her breath sharply. Pointed nails press into the bare skin of her stomach and another cold, clammy hand slides down her exposed thigh. “So…” hisses a rough voice in her ear. “The lord of whores decided to show up with a spooked little kitten, just as pathetic as the rest of your so-called kabal.”

The unknown assailant drops her an instant later and as he steps back, she gets a clear look at him. A thin, almost emaciated drukhari with dark red hair and narrow black eyes, skin more grey than white and dressed in sleeveless armor that befits a much more muscular man. He’s still speaking, directly to her now and audible even over the pounding in Jian’s ears. “Look at you; frail and scared, it’s almost like a particularly mean glare might finish you off. How long do you think you’re really going to last here in the dark city, girl?”

Jian looks to the archon, unsure if she’s allowed to speak or not. He grips the stem of his glass and frowns, all softness gone from his expression. People are turning their attention towards the scene. He turns to her only to offer the briefest of nods before he speaks. “Lord Venatorix, while I sympathize with how long it’s been since anyone deemed you and your men worthy of joining a realspace raid, and while I do understand how frustrating it must be to watch your supply of slaves dwindling while your skin withers and your hair turns grey, I must say…” His voice walks the line between polite and patronizing with a venom Jian has never heard from him before. “Surely preying on the property of your peers and betters to savor just a few instants of stollen terror is still beneath you? You are an archon, after all.”

Watching a vicious smile spread across her master’s face, Jian realizes with grim amusement how predictable drukhari are. She knows exactly what to say. “I will last as long as my lord the archon deems fit,” she chimes in. There was no need to fake the tremor in her voice, though.

Valthiel shakes his head sadly. “See? This so-called pathetic slave has still managed to show you off in courage, wits, and propriety. Really, my good lord, this is not a good showing for you when you desperately need one. I fear one day soon you’ll find yourself choking on your own frustration and impotence, and while I won’t weep for your passing, I will still mourn the loss to the city. However small it may be.” He pauses for an instant to allow his words to sink in before addressing Jian. “Come along, sweetness, our presence is better spent elsewhere.”

Jian follows him as he moves deeper into the event. Despite what seems like a victory, she feels hollower and more dejected than ever. Fear provided a distraction, but she’s been reduced once again to a flesh doll on display for everyone else’s amusement. At least this time she won’t be handed off to the highest bidder. She hopes.

A few minutes later, the archon stops again, tugging the leash to urge her closer to him. She approaches, head bowed.

“Don’t mind him,” he says quietly. “He’s a little man with major issues.”

“More so than most of the people here?” she replies with a wan smile. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done that. Perhaps in this place, even the most innocuous statements are too much from her.

The archon chuckles. “Very much so. I’m genuinely glad you’re here by my side, though.”

She wants to lie, to make him happy, to tell him that she’s glad she’s there. But there’s no chance she could make it sound convincing. “And I am glad that you are not regretting your choice of date, my lord.”

“I promise, our next date will be better,” he murmurs, reaching up to caress her cheek.

“Alright.” She tries to meet his eyes, but is stopped by the press of the collar into the back of her neck. Reminding her that it’s not her place.

He seems not to notice, however, as he leans in to kiss her, his hand sliding under her bound arms and coming to rest on the bare skin of her back. It’s a surprisingly gentle kiss, one of affection rather than domination, and she finds herself wanting to lose herself in it and forget the circumstances that surround them.

“Awww, how cute!” The voice is a woman’s, with what Jian has come to recognize as an upper-class Drukhari accent. “I must say, Valthiel, the two of you look absolutely adorable together.”

Breaking the kiss, the archon straightens up, although he keeps his arm around Jian. She follows his gaze to see a woman approaching, tall and regal, with skin unusually pale even for Commorragh and loose black curls arranged into an elaborate updo. Her armor is deep midnight blue trimmed in bright green, cut to flatter her trim figure and with a matching mask to obscure the upper half of her face.

“Lady Malys,” the archon says politely. “I’m pleased and honored beyond words that you deem it worthwhile to spend your highly valuable time speaking with me this evening.”

Jian lowers her eyes as the other archon approaches. Beyond the deference she knows is expected of her, some instinct warns her to be wary. More than anyone else here, she feels a sense of menace from this woman – not the grasping cruelty of Lord Venatorix, but a cold darkness that she could sink her psyche into forever without reaching the bottom.

She does not, however, escape notice. “And you, aren’t you the most precious thing I’ve seen in the last century or two?” Lady Malys coos. She continues her approach until she’s uncomfortably close to Jian and the archon. Her fingers drag through Jian’s hair.

Helpless to flee, unable to even push the lady’s hands away, Jian remains frozen and waits for what comes next.

“So…” Lady Malys continues, her amused tone unabated. “How much would it cost me to enjoy her company for a week, Valthy? Name me a price.”

Jian can feel her eyes widen. Some part of her knows this won’t happen, that the archon almost certainly wants her all to himself. But if she’s wrong, or if, as she suspects, this is an offer that it would be dangerous to refuse, there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Even speaking up in protest will only make things worse. She trembles under the hands of both drukarhi. 

Almost instantly, the archon shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Lady Malys, but this one isn’t for sale, nor for rent; she stays with me,” he says quietly.

“What?” Somehow that undercurrent of amusement remains even in the shock of the other woman’s tone. “Do you mean that your answer is simply ‘no’?”

“I’m afraid so. I would, however, be delighted to find you another girl to your taste from among my kabal if you would grace us with a visit one day.”

Jian lets out her breath but can’t still her quivering. Heavy silence lingers between the archon and Lady Malys, noticeable even with the background noise of the party going on around them.

And then the lady laughs, a beautiful, musical sound that Jian can’t believe comes out of the mouth of someone so ominous. “You never cease to amaze me, Valthy. You know, I think I might do that. I’ll be in touch. See you then.” She delivers a friendly, almost teasing slap to the archon’s cheek and walks away quickly.

So great is Jian’s relief that she can’t even bring herself to thank the archon as he leads her away.

The rest of the party begins to blur together. Although no one else dares to touch another archon’s property, Jian can still feel leers from many of guests, tracing the lines of exposed skin and enjoying the suggestion that she wears nothing under the elaborate gown. The discomfort of having her arms pinned so tightly spreads up her neck and shoulders and down her back, every motion or tug of the leash triggering a new ache. Her hair falls in front of her face and she can’t even toss her head to move it aside.

For his part, the archon rarely stays in one location or conversation for long. He moves among the fountains and caged dancers, the beast fights and the endless stream of slaves serving food and drinks, sometimes stopping to watch a fight or converse with another guest, but never for long. This is a business and political venture for him, Jian realizes. He forms connections, asserts power or props up others, and hints at future alliances and exchange of goods. Sending one of his lhameans to the other party as a companion seems to be his primary bargaining chip, and she gets the sense that it’s considered a status symbol in Commorragh.

At least one of these offers is rejected on the basis that the other party has a different source she prefers to use. The revelation surprises and annoys him, although Jian suspects that it’s not obvious to those who aren’t as intimately familiar with his facial expressions as she is. Interesting. While she doubts that the Kabal of the Ashen Rose is the only group that trains lhameans in city, he apparently has records of who the others are contracted with. She wonders if this information was freely shared or obtained via some kind of subterfuge, but suspects the later.

Finally, the evening seems to be winding down, at least a bit. The entertainment continues unabated and if anything the crowd is thicker, but not as many people stop the archon as he leads her towards one of the smaller canopies dotted throughout the space. A group of chairs has been arranged around a burning brazier to ward off the chill of the rest of the city.

He stops before he reaches the circle and turns to Jian. Reaching behind her, he runs his hand along the sleeve binding her arms and she feels it part, turning into a pair of long gloves once again. His fingers trace up her spine before settling between her shoulder blades, pressing into the aching muscle and relieving just a bit of the pain. He plants a kiss on her forehead and heads for his seat without a word, bringing her along behind.

Jian resists the urge to stretch the knots away from her back as she finds herself standing awkwardly at the archon’s side. In absence of any better options, she sits on the floor next to his chair, careful to tuck the spiked heels to the side and to ensure that the skirt covers as much of her as it reasonably can. Finished arranging herself, she leans against the side of the archon’s chair, just under where his arm rests. _Like the loyal pet I am,_ she thinks. The thought should probably bring disgust, but it doesn’t, simply hollowness.

A moment later, she feels a brush against the top of her head. The archon strokes her hair, playing idly with the loose strands and her hair pins as he talks with his companions. She tries her best to follow the conversation, which covers raid routes and unprotected shipping lanes within the Imperium of Mankind, eventually stretching into discussing other groups within the galaxy as well. Some she recognizes from her father’s stories of his work as a thought-talker, others are strange to her. Apparently an archon by the name of Lord Ordai has won a major victory and those present are attempting to think of ways to show him up. Jian can feel the archon's fingers tense slightly on her head at the mention of name, but just as quickly resume their normal course.

Her thoughts drift. The night is far from over, but for the moment, she has a reprieve. Despite all the humiliations, it hasn’t been as terrible as she feared. And the archon hasn’t made it worse than it needed to be. Giving her to Lady Malys would have won him favor with another powerful archon. She should return the favor somehow.

_I could suck his cock. Here in front of everyone._

She discards the thought, horrified and disgusted with herself for thinking of it. Even more so because it took her a moment to decide against it. By Isha, she’s become such a slut. The feeling intensifies as tingling pleasure races over her body. The archon has moved his hand down and begun fondling her ear.

Bringing her mind back to the present, she sneaks a glance at the rest of the circle. They appear to be a fairly representative group of the other party guests. Most have come accompanied as well, although the choice of date seems more commonly to be other high-ranked drukhari or a lhamean companion. No one else sitting nearby has a slave with them, and, she realizes, she’s seen very few others in her position tonight.

If bringing her was an unusual decision, there must have been reasoning behind it. Something she can play into to impress his fellows.

She’s almost returned to her original idea when a stray thought drifts across her mind. The second evening she spent with the archon, when he brought her up to the roof. She knows what she can do.

Hoping he doesn’t misinterpret her actions and that there’s enough slack in her leash to allow for them, she crawls forward to kneel in front of him. After an instant’s hesitation, she reaches for the fastening of one of his armored boots.

The archon sighs happily and lifts his foot a fraction, making her work easier. Jian relaxes a fraction and eases the boot off. Massages have never been a particular talent of hers, but she’s had ample opportunity to practice over the last few months and it gives her something to focus on other than her own situation. He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversation as she eases his foot into her lap and begins to work.

She has no idea how long she continues her work, but her hands have begun to throb with no sign of a lull in the conversation above her head. She’s long since switched to the other leg and has now started to work up his calves as well. To stop now, without prompting, would likely be worse than to never have started. The rest of the group has noticed her and congratulated him on how well-trained she is, so they would take note if she went back to her old position.

After perhaps another fifteen minutes, the archon leans down and rubs her head before lifting her chin with a finger. She finds herself looking into a gentle smile. “Are you ready to return home, my sweet thing?”

“If that is what you wish, my lord,” she breathes. Her aching hands pause. A commotion is building in the on the other side of the gathering, although she can’t tell what the source is yet.

He looks over to the source of the noise, then turns his attention back to her. “Ah, yes, that is our cue. Get ready.” He lifts his foot and Jian complies, putting his boots back on before accepting a hand to get to her feet.

A crowd has grown around the disturbance by now, and as Jian follows the archon back through the space, she realizes that someone is screaming. Cries of pain, terror, and orgasm have punctuated the night, mostly from the various entertainment, but this is different. She cranes her neck and rises to her toes in an attempt to see who or what is making the sound. It might be better not to know, but her curiosity won’t allow her to leave without at least trying.

The party guests have clustered around a single figure hunched on the floor. It takes her a moment to identify it as male or female, and another to realize that the man is Lord Venatorix, crawling blindly on all fours as he bellows in pain. Blood drips from his mouth, his nose, his ears, and soaks into the pants of his armor. His skin has turned ashen and shriveled on his frame, and his eyes… It takes Jian a moment to realize that his eyes have melted and run down his face to mix with the blood.

She turns away from the disgusting sight, horror mixed with a strange triumph. He deserves it. So does just about every other drukhari here tonight. But unlike them, she doesn’t need to be here to savor his agony.

The archon looks back at her, and his face is one he’s never shown before. A self-satisfied expression of vicious glee that she can imagine him wearing as he steps onto the bridge of a helpless craftworld ship. She smiles back, face a halo of innocence as she follows him back to his vehicle.

When they’ve taken off, Jian sinks into her seat with a suppressed sigh. It’s been a long night, and likely will extend for much longer. The archon has been salivating over her all evening. She will need to satisfy him before she can sleep, and she knows from experience that it often takes hours for him to spend his lust fully. Sometimes all night. Perhaps there is some merit to his stories of being descended from a sex goddess, or perhaps all drukhari are this jaded to pleasure. Or maybe she’s simply not good in bed.

For the moment, however, he seems occupied. A series of movements she doesn’t catch opens a hidden compartment filled with vials and jars. The archon pulls half a dozen out and proceeds to consume the contents, pouring them down his throat one by one. Some glow in different colors, others are powders that he washes down with water.

“Are you alright?” asks Jian.

He smiles, all trace of sadism gone from his expression. “Oh yes, just a safety precaution. Broad spectrum antidotes to the most fashionable toxins in the city at the moment, just in case there’s something I haven’t picked up on.”

“Do I need to take anything?”

“I don’t think so.” He reaches over to caress her cheek before unhooking her leash and stuffing it into a pouch on his belt. “I’ve kept an eye on you the entire time we’ve been out this evening, just in case you started to develop symptoms. You’re fine.”

Jian isn’t sure how that can be true, when he spent so much time talking to others and otherwise distracted, but she accepts his statement without complaint. “Thank you.”

Finished with his potions, the archon shoves the compartment closed and leans back in his seat, sliding an arm behind her shoulders. “You did really well tonight, you know.”

“I’m glad.” The statement is a true one. Pleasing him, making her fear and humiliation not entirely pointless, these are positive things.

“How about we finish up with a relaxing bath in one of my hot springs? I’m sure your muscles and joints could use the chance to relax.”

“That sounds really nice.” The whole affair has given her an unclean feeling that she longs to wash off, even if she suspects that, like everything else, it never will. At least it will be new and different. They’ve never had sex in the bath before. “I didn’t know you had those.”

He smiles, apparently pleased with her reaction. “One of the advantages of being, well, someone like me. There is very little that I don’t have, and very little that I don’t have that I cannot get.”

“Alright.” She falls quiet, unsure of how else to continue the conversation. After a few minutes, she speaks up again. “I doubt anyone will miss Lord Venatorix.”

That gets a laugh from him. “The rest of his kabal might, as they squabble over whatever power and resources he had left until it’s squandered or someone takes the throne and purges their competition. But no, I agree with you.”

“I certainly won’t miss him.” Why she’s walking down this road, she’s not sure. She has known that her master has killed hundreds, if not thousands of aeldari, in all manner of horrific and cruel ways, throughout his life. And between the Ashen Rose and his corsair fleet, the blood of countless more is on his hands. But tonight is the first time she has seen it happen.

“Neither will I.” He brings his hand up to stroke her hair, although oddly in a less intimate way than he did earlier in the evening. “He should not have spoken to you that way. Even if we did get the last laugh.”

Jian shrugs. “It was not unexpected. I was prepared. Wasn’t even that frightened, really.” Apart from the initial spike of alarm when the man grabbed her, it was clear that he was no real threat to her.

“You still deserve better, though.” The archon leans in and kisses the top of her head and Jian feels a strange twisting in her stomach.

“Thank you,” she replies quietly. “And thank you for not letting Lady Malys… have me.”

His grip tightens on her. “I would be an incredibly poor master and unfit for my position if I did that now, wouldn’t I?”

Has she misspoken? Is he offended that she doubts him? “I think most people there would have. Especially for her,” she clarifies.

“Well, I am not most people, then; I would never. Especially not you.”

 _Especially not you…_ Again, the disquiet in her gut as he expresses what seems almost to be affection. Whatever she feels is muted by exhaustion, though. She hopes she doesn’t fall asleep while he’s using her. It would be an embarrassing end to an already ignominious day. “I’m glad to hear that.”

They finish the trip in silence. When they land, the archon stirs. “Do you want me to carry you over to the hot springs? Or can you walk?”

“I can walk just a bit further, I’m sure.” Whether she will be able to when he’s done with her is anyone’s guess, but they will have to figure that out later.

“Does that mean you _want_ to walk?”

She nods. She’ll feel less like nothing if she can at least move under her own power. She does, however, accept his arm to guide her along the path.

This landing platform is in a part of the gardens she’s never been to before, more trees and fewer small plants and shrubs. The spire is still close, she can see over the treetops, but it feels more secluded and just a bit wilder. At least people are less likely to walk in on them. He’s never seemed interested in making her perform in front of others for the sake of it, but several times someone has arrived to speak with him while she’s working. It seems to be entirely unsurprising here, but she would rather it not happen again. Not tonight.

Rounding a corner, the archon stops, letting her take in the sight before her. A pile of boulders sits halfway embedded in the soil of a clearing, forming the edge of a pool, perhaps five meters across at its widest point. The water is slightly cloudy and shifts with movement from a point at the far edge, which Jian assumes is the actual spring. A thin haze rises slowly from the surface.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” she says. “I had no idea this was here.”

The archon smiles and detaches the cloak from the shoulders of his armor, folding it and placing it on one of the rocks. A small stack of towels and what she assumes are robes are waiting nearby, she notices. “Well, now you do. Feel free to visit as often as you like.”

“It might be nice to take a soak after training sometimes.” Jian follows suit. Time to make it easy for him. The skirt detaches easily and she drapes it over one of the taller rocks. But then she stops and her face heats.

She can’t remove the rest of her clothing. The gloves have sunk their hooks into her skin, the straps of the ridiculous shoes are locked, and what fabric the top of her dress has in it has seamed itself without visible fastening. He’ll have to rip it from her body. Which is probably the point.

Biting her lip, she looks up. “Can you help me undress?” she says in a small voice.

“Of course.” While she was fiddling with her outfit, the archon has pulled his armor off. Like her own training garb, it leaves trails of blood where it detached from his nervous system. Jian knows from experience that the process is painful as well, but he shows no sign of discomfort as he approaches her, fully nude.

He runs his fingers along the top edge of the gloves and she lets out a sharp hiss as she feels the miniscule claws retract before he taps something that makes the elaborate neckpiece coil itself into two small balls, leaving only her normal collar. Next, he picks up a knife to slice the bodice up the back and remove it before bending down to unfasten her shoes. Without a word, he straightens and walks toward the spring.

Quickly peeling the gloves off, Jian steps out of her shoes and wiggles her toes in the grass. There’s no feeling in them, but she’s certain it will return quickly enough. She takes a deep breath and follows the archon into the water.

Warm water stings on the cuts that Lynx hadn’t managed to heal before they left and prickles of heat and cold race up her skin as the steaming water contrasts with the crisp air. Her body aches from the wide variety of mistreatment it’s received recently, but the heat pushes it from the surface into the deeper muscles, where it’s easier to deal with. It’s wonderful.

The archon must be watching her expression as she lowers herself into the pool. “I knew you would like it.” There’s a familiar grin in his voice. “Now come over her and make yourself comfortable while I work on your hair and back.”

Jian stops her descent and looks at him in confusion. What does he want her to do?

“I mean…” The archon hesitates. “It must have been an exhausting evening for you, and I think you deserve to be pampered a bit before we go to bed, don’t you?”

“That sounds really nice. Thank you.” Still discomforted, she half-walks, half-floats towards him. The water isn’t deep, just over her head at its deepest point. She settles herself on a rock next to the archon and waits for what he wants to do.

A moment later, she feels his fingers in her hair again, mixed with the coolness of soap. Without speaking, he lathers her hair and rinses, turning the process into a slow, gentle scalp massage that sends waves of pleasure down her body in a much different way that his touch normally does. When the last handful of warm water has poured over her head, he moves down, pressing into the tired, stiff muscles of her neck and shoulders and undoing the knots that have clustered in her upper back.

Jian lets him work, remaining quiet except for the little moans of pleasure that occasionally escape. The feeling of having someone simply care for her, after all that’s happened today, it feels far more overwhelming than such a simple gesture warrants. It washes away just a bit of the hollowness and makes her feel like a person again, even if it is only on his terms.

Finished with his work, the archon pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. It feels oddly protective, with none of the possessive lust she’s used to from him. At odds with the arousal that she can feel pressing into her thigh. She leans back into his arms, trying to focus on the comfort and relaxation while she can. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. “We will have to do something like this again soon.”

“We will.” She’s unsure if he means the part, or this strangely peaceful interlude, but either way it’s not her place to argue with him.

Jian closes her eyes as the archon’s fingers entwine with her own and he twists to kiss her on the cheek. It’s such a strange contrast: the affectionate, almost reverent man in whose lap she sits now; the passionate lover, insistent on wringing every ounce of pleasure that her body holds for either of them; and the archon, with a malevolent smile and death at his fingertips. She wonders which one is his real face, or if it’s none of them and the eldar he would most like to be is locked away from her somewhere.

Not that it’s really her place to muse. What matters for now is that he seems to be in a good mood and, for the moment, nothing is required of her. Or is it?

Turning in his embrace, she kisses him, putting as much passion as she can create into the gesture. He responds in kind, pressing her to him and lingering for long minutes.

Something stirs in Jian. Not quite the same discomfort that she felt earlier, but a tug of something she hasn’t felt in a long time, and never quite like this. Can she be… attracted to this man?

No sooner has the thought crossed her mind that a wave of violent emotion breaks over her. Reena’s disappointed face mixes with Verynia’s mocking voice in her ear. _"Look at you. Always knew you were destined for She Who Thirsts, abandoning the healer to jump some drukhari's dick. What about your loyalty?"_

Nausea overcomes her and she breaks the contact, breathing hard to avoid vomiting on the archon.

“What’s wrong?” The archon grips her arms and looks her over rapidly, intense and clinical in his scrutiny. “What happened? How do you feel?”

“Sick,” Jian replies faintly.

“Let me help you up.” He climbs out of the water and wraps himself in one of the robes before bending down to scoop her up. A towel drapes over her to hide her nakedness. Still cradling her in his arms, he begins walking towards the spire.

“I’m starting to feel better,” she says after a few minutes. “I think maybe I’m just dehydrated.” She’s not sure if it’s the fresh air and the cool breeze on her face, or the loss of the intimacy she was about to open herself to that’s brought the improvement.

The archon slows his pace somewhat and his breathing calms. “It’s possible. I’ll give you some strengthening tonics when we’re back at my quarters, and after that I think it’s time for you to have some much-earned rest, Jian.”

“That sounds nice.” She can’t suppress a sigh. “It’s been a long day…” She can barely remember the beating she took this morning, even if the aftereffects are still there.

“It has. You’ve performed extraordinarily, though.” He sounds almost… sad. Regretful, even.

“What’s wrong?” Jian murmurs. The warm water has made her sleepy and now that the nausea has worn off, her exhaustion has returned.

The archon shakes his head and forces a smile. “Nothing, I just- you should have received a nutrition package as soon as we entered our sub-space.”

“I’m alright, really.”

“You’re obviously spent and possibly poisoned. I should have realized that and made sure you were taken care of as soon as we returned home.” He sighs.

“You did, though. It was really, really nice.” She’s not sure what exactly is bothering him, but it seems to be related to her, so she should try to fix it. And a few moments of quiet, undemanding affection have done more for her than a king’s feast would have, she’s certain.

He smiles down at her, but doesn’t speak again until they’re in his quarters. By then, Jian has half fallen asleep in spite of herself. Motion startles her and she returns to full alertness to find herself wearing a white silk shirt, somewhat oversized on her frame, propped up in his bed with pillows. She adjusts the blankets on her lap and watches as the archon busies himself at the table, unsure of what she’s meant to do next.

A few minutes later, he returns with a cup of tea and three miniature glasses, containing liquids which he tells her will boost her immune system, rebalance her salt levels, and increase the vitamins and minerals in her body. Obediently, she consumes all three and the tea before accepting the offer to lean back in bed and sink into darkness.

The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the archon, sitting in a chair next to her bed. Her hand is held in both of his.

* * * *

_The girl lies still throughout the night, exhaustion of the body and spirit keeping her from even the normal movements of sleep. Only an occasional gasp reveals the tumult of her dreamscape._

_The man, meanwhile, sits at his own bedside for hours, checking and rechecking her temperature, her pulse, her breathing, until he’s satisfied that her illness is one of the soul and not of the body, just as he has known. Only then does he allow himself to crawl under the blankets and fall asleep at her side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Aurelia will forget being snubbed like that and Valthiel's decision will have no future negative consequences whatsoever.


End file.
